Harmonious Coexistence

Kashif had warned him a month wasn’t enough to make it worth it. Hell, a decade probably wouldn’t have sufficed.

Jamal peered through the red and yellow stained glass window to the street below, but he could only make out amorphous blobs. Even if he could see them coming (and that was a big “if”), his odds were laughably low. He chuckled, in acknowledgment of this fact, then curled up in a ball and cried as the last rays of sunlight dimmed. Day 30—the Glory Month’s dreaded culmination.

Day 1 had been a waste. The commencement, congratulations, applause…he knew what it was. They especially knew what it was. It was only when the governor addressed him directly that he paused. Hearing her say his name — “Jamal” — almost got him to buy into their facade. But that feeling faded quickly.

“Heroes,” she had called them. “The lynchpins of our diplomacy.”

Lynchpins…it was an interesting choice of words. He had surveyed the other “heroes” at the commencement. Nearly everyone looked like him. There were a few pale faces, but they were, in this case, the minority.

The spread was the only memorable part of the ceremony. While Jamal’s mom had been clever in the kitchen with root vegetables and beans, he had never experienced cuisine like this. Marbleized wagyu, thick as a book; endless, succulent roast duck; an entire tuna, head-on, watching the room from the center of the banquet. The seat of honor.

But the feast, like everything, was ephemeral. The supercars, the concerts, the women…all of it felt vapid as soon as the initial thrill had expired. Kashif had been right—Jamal regretted signing up for the Glory Month every day...just in different ways. On Day 6, it was when he slowed down to take the turn in the Ferrari. Day 9, it was when the band concluded his favorite song. With the girl on Day 2…he couldn’t finish.

Why was he stupid enough to have agreed to this? Was this really what life was for?

Now, he stared blankly at the stained glass, its reds and yellows pouring over his hands. He tried to hold the light between his fingertips. Taking a deep breath failed to calm him—his lungs felt deflated. The unease sunk in. Time was waning.

The real fear had only hit Jamal today. Until now, he had somehow numbed himself to the inevitable. The only other trepidation he faced was on Day 13, but for a different reason.

There was a new girl every night. Jamal was a virgin—at least, he had been before Day 1. Like most boys, he had fantasized about the experience. And while it often played out like he had envisioned it, he found himself disconnected. It was as if he were watching himself from above—the same feeling he had had when driving the supercar and listening to his favorite band.

On Day 13, the exhaustion was palpable and the turmoil peaked. Rosa entered the suite that night, draped in a brilliant white bathrobe, with only a yellow and red heart-shaped locket dangling from her neck. She didn’t smile like the others had. She approached him, not seductively, but with tenderness and sadness. When she put her hands on his shoulders, a warmth surged throughout his being.

Jamal couldn’t hold back—the tears flooded from his eyes. Pain and reality engulfed him, yet it was welcome; he was alive for the first time in weeks. He tried to apologize to this woman he had never met before—but he couldn’t get the words out. When he finally built up the courage to meet her eyes, he saw that she, too, was crying. Her face remained stoic while droplets fell from her cheeks.

For a moment, she held him, and he held her. Then, they spoke.

“It’s a trap,” Jamal said, finally. “A beautiful trap made for fools like me. I just had to walk into it.”

“I don’t think we walk into things,” Rosa responded. “I think we’re born into them. We just…became aware of them. And we choose which trap we want to live in.”

“Did you make the right choice?”

Rosa smiled. “I don’t think there is a right choice. But at least you got to drive a Ferrari.”

Jamal laughed. Rosa laughed. They stayed up speaking until dawn. Just for the night, he forgot all about the Glory Month.

He requested her return on Day 14. And Day 15. On Day 16, while they were lying in bed, he asked her, “Have you seen them? In-person, I mean?”

She squeezed his hand. “I’m not sure they even exist.”

“Don’t say that too loud.”

“What are they going to do to us that’s worse than this?”

“Is this…not good for you?”

She let go of his hand and kissed his nose. “This is the only good thing.”

On Day 17, Jamal left with some of the other heroes for the three-day beach getaway. He had asked if Rosa could come along, but they refused to let her join—according to them, Rosa had a fully booked schedule.

Jamal’s task was to enjoy sunset drinks on the beach. But he couldn’t stand it. At sunset, he vomited up his piña colada. The cries in the distance roiled his stomach. They sounded almost like dogs, begging for scraps—but he knew what they really were.

Now, it was almost his time. He ran his fingers along the stained glass window: a portrait of Mary Magdalene, pleading with the crowd not to be stoned.

The idea of Glory Month had certainly been peculiar, even sadistic, when it was first announced. After five years, it no longer seemed strange. It seemed like winning the lottery. At least, it did for Jamal. After all, his mom had passed two years back. “A disease,” the nurse had told him. She wasn’t alone; there had been something going around. There was always something going around in the slums. Kashif told him to hold out for something better, but that sounded like a fool’s errand—Jamal had only seen things get worse.

Ten years ago, when they first came (or, at least, when the world first discovered their existence), he was certain the human race would prevail. But he couldn’t have anticipated the “Glorious Compromise.” No one could have.

At first, people fought it in droves. Weren’t we sacrificing our very souls by making this deal? Soon, however, attitudes shifted. There was a higher-than-anticipated appetite for Glory Month volunteerism in the slums. After all, when else would they get the chance to drive a Ferrari?

The narrative changed. It wasn’t that everyone was for it, exactly but the protests dwindled; the news coverage slowed, then stopped. The tone shifted from “cowardice” and “moral bankruptcy.” It became about “population control” and “harmonious coexistence.” The new normal became just that: normal.

Jamal didn’t see Rosa again until Day 27. When she entered the suite, he actually smiled. So did she. He ran up and embraced her. She squeezed him back. The warmth returned to his soul.

“I missed you,” she said.

“Did you really?”

She nodded.

He couldn’t stop smiling. He had been waiting almost a week to tell her his plan. “Rosa, I’ve been thinking. What if we could get out of it? What if we could run away?”

Her smile faded and she pushed away. “And do what?” She barked. “You think you can get away? Don’t think they’d find us? They’re faster than us. Stronger than us.”

“You said you didn’t even know if they existed.”

“I was just trying to make you feel better,” she admitted softly. “Jamal, come on. If you run, they’d kill you. And me…”

“Is there a life worse than this?”

Rosa buried her head in her knees. “You don’t know what they’re capable of. I’ve seen their farms. Do you know what they do to women in these places? They make them breeders, Jamal, pumped full of fertility drugs…”

Jamal took a step back. He thought they were just urban legends.

“I’ve seen them,” she said slowly.

“But then…Why the Glory Month? Why do they need me?”

Her laugh was empty. “Some want organic, free-range livestock. Others don’t care if their meat ever sees the light of day.”

He took a second to process her words.

“There are worse things than this,” she said. “Don’t be so selfish. Enjoy your last three days.”

“Rosa…”

She had already left the room. It wasn’t until she was gone that Jamal found her heart-shaped locket on the floor.

The sun had set. Only the fading blue twilight remained, seeping through the stained glass windows. It wouldn’t be long now.

On Day 28, Jamal had hatched the plan to escape. He couldn’t wait until Day 30. They would be expecting it then.

On that same day, the heroes attended the opera. During the first act, Jamal excused himself to the washroom. It was on the third story, but he didn’t care. Escape was the only thing that mattered. He found a small window he could wriggle out of. There was no hesitation, he forced himself through and plunged into the alleyway below.

He landed badly. A loud crack. His ankle exploded in pain. Jamal kept from screaming, though, and limped away quickly. Two miles later, he realized the extent of his injuries. His ankle swelled to the size of a baseball. Every step yielded agony renewed. He collapsed behind a dumpster when it became unbearable.

Four miles away from the opera, but would that be enough? He surveyed his surroundings. The dumpster was outside an abandoned church. It was probably desecrated (they all were), but it was his best bet.

They were faster than him. They were stronger. Hell, they could probably smell him from miles away. His hope eroded as the day’s last light, streaming through the window, gave way to darkness. He shifted his body, careful not to put too much weight on his leg.

The screams emerged from outside. This time they sounded like devilish children laughing. He couldn’t tell if it was the hunter or the hunted. He awaited the inevitable.

“Jamal.”

A voice spoke from the entrance of the church. A figure approached him.

“Rosa, what are you doing here? I thought you were afraid?”

“I am afraid,” she said, kneeling next to him. “What happened to your ankle?”

“I hurt it falling from the—” Jamal paused and leaned back. “How did you find me, Rosa?”

“Follow your nose,” she said, leaning in and kissing his nose.

He inched back as she leaned in closer. The shrieks outside grew louder.

“You’re lucky it was me that found you,” she said. “Did you happen to find my locket?”

He didn’t say anything, but reached into his pocket and removed the heart-shaped jewelry. He handed it to her. His hand brushed against hers. It was frigid.

“You,” she said, clasping the locket against her chest. “You…thought I could be good.”

They stared at each other across the dark room as the howls outside reached deafening levels. “Why isn’t there a picture in the locket?” Jamal asked finally. “It’s empty.”

Was she smiling? An unholy choir of pain and agony resounded outside the cathedral.

Then Rosa got to her feet. She brushed Jamal’s cheek, turned, and walked away.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“I never do this,” she said, back to him. “But I’ll tell them I found you. You had taken your own life, bled out two days ago.”

“Why would you do that?”

“It’s not a big deal to them. Call it…improperly handled produce.”

“Rosa…”

“Jamal, don’t worry. To them, you’re all the same. In time, you can even go back to your regular life. Just keep your head down. At least you’ll live. I’ll see you. I’ll feed you. I’ll take care of you.”

She didn’t turn back and look at him. He didn’t respond. He just watched as she walked out of the church and into the black oblivion.