THE END

14.5 (Natalie)

It's about 1 AM; the perfect time for the tradition.

Every year Sheila, Luke, and I would set up these giant stain glass windows all around the main floor. We'd prop them up in different patterns, and in different designs. Each window was unique. Each one was a mosaic of colors; all different shades. And every single one was beautiful.

We started doing it when Luke's mom died. Sheila and I set it all up the next night while he was sleeping, so he would wake up to something nice. His mom, Lee, always loved mosaics, and talked about how back on earth she had stain glass windows in her dining room. So we thought it was a nice way to remember her.

We kept doing it every year, at first just as a nice gesture for Luke, but then it became a way to cheer everyone up. Life always got a bit overwhelming around this time of year. Then two years ago, my parents died three days before Luke's parent's death-anniversary. I completely forgot about the tradition, but they kept it going even without me, and I woke up to something beautiful.

Last year was the last time the three of us did it together. I only wish I had got to say goodbye to them. I never even found their bodies. A tiny, foolish part of me hopes that they could still be alive, but I know it isn't possible. People don't just disappear; the only explanation is that they died in the bombing. So many people did.

That's why I'm so nervous for the battle tomorrow. I don't want Neil or Cecily or Mark to get hurt- I've lost enough people. First my parents, then Luke and Sheila. I've got to keep the tradition going, although whether it's more for myself or them, I'm not sure.

I open my tent quietly and walk outside, going to the lower level where we stored all the windows. I bring them all up one by one. It's painstaking work. I have to carry them each up the stairs and through the trap door, and each window is almost as big as me.

I'm about half way through when I decide I've had enough. I put down the window I was holding and debate what to do next. I've always had help before, usually from at least two people. It's not a one person job.

The room is eerily silent.

"Whatcha doing?" I hear from behind me. I jump in surprise and turn around.

"Mark! What are you doing up?"

"I asked you first." He says slyly.

"Well. Currently dragging stain glass windows up a very tall flight of stairs and arranging them around the room in different patterns."

"May I ask why...?"

"It's....it's a tradition me and my friends have done every year for quite some time. You might've noticed it before."

"That sounds...vaguely familiar." He says with a small laugh. "But this year it's just you?"

"Yep." I say. Sensing that I don't want to talk about it, he quickly changes the topic.

"Do you want some help?"

"Nah, I got this." I say. In truth, I could really use a hand.

"I can't let you do all that lifting by yourself. I'm helping."

"I don't wanna keep you up, and this could take all night. Go back to sleep." I say.

"No." He says with a grin. "I'm helping."

"Fine, suit yourself. Go get some more windows from downstairs and bring them over here by the others." I tell him. He gets right to work. Between the two of us, all the windows are up on the main level within ten minutes. That would've taken me at least an hour.