Ju  - One

Kiyr - Two

Cer - Three

Un - Four

Kuhg - Five

Nuhgmhi - Six

Leh - Seven

Muhg - Eight

Duh - Nine

Fer - Ten

Hur - Twenty

Ruh - We

Hn - Should

Uh - Get

Hmuh - Going

Fuh - Oh

Lu - On

Nig - Come

Hgu - Don't

Vu -  A

Hn -  Be

Huh - Kill

Piy - Off

Gug - Buzz

Lub - Human

Ed - Yes

De - No

Derf - Here

Taco - Taco

Knots - Minutes

Once, everybody got along. Don't worry, it was a long time ago. Before the Great War of 4032. My father used to tell me stories about angles with amazing white wings, who took care of us from above. They only came down once a year, he told me. He went on and on about how beautiful they were. And how they smiled and the sun got brighter. He said my mom would've loved to see one. I miss her. She died before the War, and even before I was two years of age, but sometimes I think I see her floating in the sky, or sitting at the table, or in the big chair in the living room. She's pretty in my mind, with blue eyes and brown hair, like mine; but Father says she had golden locks and emerald eyes. I still like to think of her with blue ones, even though I know it's wrong. The Great War destroyed us. I remember the day the Angels came down. They were, like my father had said, beautiful. Everyone gathered in the streets to marvel, and wonder. We bowed, and prayed to them like we had practiced. We offered our help. But they turned like a coin. They tore apart our homes, they ate the children. They ravaged across the world in packs of hundreds, ruining everything in their path. They annihilated us. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Their wings turned from white to red. We tried to fight, we tried to surrender, we tried to hide. But they took every life possible. Except one. They kept one of us. They called him the warrior. They called him the savior. Murdered the rest; but kept one of us. And the worst part is; nobody is around to wonder why.  

Do you know what it's like to be trapped? To be stuck in a space the size of a shower? To never speak. To never move. To never try. Don't think I haven't tried to get out. I pound on the walls. I smash my arms into the ceiling. I scream for light. I howl at the man who brings my food. I cry in the stream of water that constantly comes from the little shower-head in my teeny space. My arms break. And heal. I lose my voice, and gain it back. I've been here since I was four. I have no idea how long it's been. There's no light. There's no sense. It's silence. Every minute. 

I try to learn to speak the language of the man who brings the food. But it's all growls and moans. I celebrate my birthday whenever I feel like it, and I pretend I'm 10 years of age. But everyday gets boring. Why are they keeping me alive? For nothing? Nobody comes to look at me. Nobody preforms tests. Nobody, nobody, nobody! I sit here, naked, in a tiny shower, eating, crying, and screaming. I know the Angels have the world at their feet. How many humans are left; I have no idea. I only remember the wings. 

Their beautiful white wings. How they enveloped around me, and the sweet smell of coconut. And then I opened my eyes, and I've been here ever since. The Man Who Brings the Food; I call him Al-fie. It sounds like the name someone would give to a servant. I've never seen him, of course. The food slides through the slit in the wall, and if I don't grab it, it falls to the shower floor. The slit slams shut, and footsteps leave. They're heavy, so I assume no woman could ever walk so loudly. But then again, sometimes I wonder if it's the beating of wings I hear so clearly. 

I wonder who the savior is. Who the warrior was that they kept. But I know that if they only kept one of us, it might be me. But I'm no warrior. 

Today, is my birthday again. I had one yesterday too. I sing quietly to myself, and do a little dance. I pretend to open presents and blow out candles. Things I barely remember from my youth. I have no idea if I am male or female. I don't remember. I'm losing my Human Tongue. I can't remember half the words I used to. I force my brain to remember; pull tidbits from the back of my mind. The rest, I learn from the radio that turns on every two days. It speaks in garbled Human Tongue and it's all re-runs. I can tell, because it doesn't ever speak about the War. 

I look around my sad little shower, and wish that it had a curtain instead of solid walls the entire way around. 

But, today, something inside me is stirring. I can't tell yet what it is, but something tells me that everything is going to change. And it scares me how I somehow know that it's going to be because of me.