Sophie Milord

the Others

The Others by Sophie Milord My pillow is a pile of soggy moss that lies on the carboard bed that I have constructed underneath a fallen streetlamp. A tarp strung over the post of the collapsed light is both my home and my shop. A sodden newspaper clipping, a handful of stale gummy bears and a cracked mason jar are all that I have to offer for sale today. Every half hour or so a group of robed entities scurries by without notice of my spread. I can’t help but notice their human like qualities and once again I am fooled into excitement. Six years, six months and six days since they’ve been here, haven’t seen but three humans since. Each of the humans I saw referred to these hominid resembling beings as ‘the Others.’ Eyes so blood shot you could barely see their pupils, yet their presence so familiar. If I were not to sleep for a few weeks you wouldn’t be able to tell us apart, so I must be beginning to fit in because I can’t recall the last time I slept through the night. The main defining difference they possess is their skin; lined with microscopic scales and 400˚ Fahrenheit to the touch blisters human skin. Almost a year ago is when the feud began to dwindle. After torching millions of homes with sleeping children, including my most magnificent Audrey, they seemed to find boredom in their destruction and no longer pay us any mind. Audrey used to love our small-town fair; her favorite event being the ring toss. All of the lights and sirens went off in the tent as she through the winning ring and won a cheap silver painted locket. She didn’t take the damn thing off for months. The locket now lives in my shoe along with my other priceless possessions.