What the hell was that?” he asked no-one in particular. “Did they ram us?”“Uh – negative, sir.” Marnetti offered, reading an instrumental assessment from his display, “It seems we were hit by some kind of pulse wave generated by their jump.”“Their jump? – You mean by arriving they nearly killed us?”Marnetti nodded, continuing, “Range 0.5 kilometers, Captain. Holding steady. No recognized weapons activity.”“Damage report.” He ordered, feeling his way back into his seat, eyes glued to the viewscreen.“Shield 2 down, 1 is buckling.” Pluddeman choked.“Power stable, all systems holding steady,” Marnetti added, now rubbing some bruises.“Any communications?”“Nothing, sir. Static on all frequencies.”“What are they doing?”“Nothing, sir. Waiting maybe.”“Waiting, my ass!” Dayne barked. “They must be sizing us up!
Someday those bruises inside you will heal. You can't know when someday will come, or what life will look like when it finally does. ... But in a way it doesn't even matter because someday isn't what we have. What we have is right now, this moment, when things aren't okay yet, but in a way they are already, because in the end they will be, and as long as that's true, it's enough.
I used to pray you know, pray to God that He would somehow stop it. All the nights of listening to my mother scream and things breaking. Of holding my brother and sister and listening to them cry and begging me to stop it.'My voice is slow and steady like a freight train at night.'I was too young, and we were always told that they'd put us in foster homes where people would rape us if we ever said anything. So we explained away the bruises and my mom wore big sunglasses whenever she left the house. And we invented car accidents if the bruising was too bad to cover with make-up.