u/JustSpare3188

Hey yall. I’m 24f with a background in hospitality and sales, I do hold an insurance license, but no college degree. I am currently working at a cafe, and while I do enjoy it the hours and pay are pretty terrible. It’s a temporary situation. I am in desperate need of a career change and have been strongly considering a career in financial advising.

However in doing my research there’s a deluge of information online and it’s all slightly different. So can yall help a girl out and give me a breakdown of the basic steps to becoming one? Is it different state by state? Do I need a degree or not? Some websites say yes and some don’t. Do I need a series 6 or 7? Or 65? Also any advice, tips, or suggestions or literally anything you think would be helpful is appreciated!

Hey yall. I’m 24f with a background in hospitality and sales, I do hold an insurance license, but no college degree. I am in desperate need of a career change and have been strongly considering a career in financial advising.

However in doing my research there’s a deluge of information online and it’s all slightly different. So can yall help a girl out and give me a breakdown of the basic steps to becoming one? Is it different state by state? Do I need a degree or not? Some websites say yes and some don’t. Do I need a series 6 or 7? Or 65? Also any advice, tips, or suggestions or literally anything you think would be helpful is appreciated!

24F, USA of A plays guitar (not professionally, but enough to impress you a little), drinks an unreasonable amount of coffee, and spends a lot of time outside hiking and looking for cool animals/views, marvel nerd.

I like good conversation, literally anything from dumb jokes to deeper life stuff. Just looking for people who are chill, can hold a conversation, and don’t take themselves too seriously. if you like music, cheesy sitcoms, playful banter, etc. we‘ll probably get along.

send me a dm if you wanna chat/long term texting buddy! I love learning about other culture/countries too so everyone welcome!

I woke up as soon as the sun started to peek in. In the bed, the space next to me was cold; it hadn’t been slept in last night. The house was unusually quiet, as I was the only one awake. It was too early to start breakfast, so I went to work on my husband’s chores. My feet started blindly moving towards the door. They were heavy, as if someone filled them with mud.

 As I walked through the gray abyss of the world, I remembered. I remembered packing his bag with him, I remembered the tears, and I remembered the final embrace. He was gone. Why did he have to fight? They had plenty of other men! Why did they have to take my husband away from me? And all for what, a war?  

I began the work that my husband usually does; chopping wood and tending to the animals. After that, he would say goodbye to the children and then he left for work. He was a potter. He was really good at his trade, because he had such delicate hands. He used to make pots with those hands, he used to hold my children with those hands...and now he’ll be holding a musket. I sat there, in the pale gray, chilly, sleeping, world...and cried. My tears began to wash the old tear stains away, and create new ones. After a while, I began to calm down, somewhat. Well, I thought, I’m not getting anything done out here. 

Inside, I stared at the sky, which was ever so slowly stretching itself out for the day. As it stretched, it turned from pale gray to purplish-gray, purple, then blue. Pity, I was beginning to like the pale gray color. 

It’s no use. It didn’t matter what color the sky was, or how much work I did, he’s not coming back anytime soon. There was a horrible, hollow feeling filling up my heart. I was actually starting to miss the sadness. I’d rather be sad then hollow. I’d rather be anything, just as long as I’m not hollow. 

There was a small squeak from the hallway. My daughter sat there, watching me. I could tell that she was as broken as I was, if not more. 

“Mama, where’s Papa?”

“He’s um...not here right now.”

“He’s gone to war, hasn’t he?” 

“Sarah! Whatever gave you that idea?” She took a deep breath.

“I listen. I listen to you and papa. I listen to the neighbors. I listen to the men shouting in the streets. I listen to the important people that everyone else listens too. I listen to the important people’s slaves complaining. I listen to redcoats and their swears. I listen to the newspapers’ big, bold headlines. I listen to the world. All you have to do is look around, the sky, the plants, the animals, the people, they all scream war. It’s not that hard to figure out, you know...Mama?”

Hot tears began their slow journey down my cheeks. 

“Yes, Sarah. Papa has gone to war.”

At that moment, we both ran to each other and embraced. Hot tears and arms were flung everywhere, while the sky looked sadly on. “Yes, Sarah. Papa has gone to war.” played over and over in my head. Yes, Sarah. Papa has gone to war.

We sat there crying, wishing there was something we could do, but knowing there was nothing we could do. Wishing doesn't have the power to change. We sat there, for what seems like hours, even though it was probably actually minutes. After that, there were sniffles and sighs, and silence. 

The silence was unending and nerve racking. My shoulders started to shake and droplets of cold sweat began forming on my forehead. I wanted so desperately to speak, but I knew that there was nothing to be said. The silence spoke loud enough. 

When my husband was here, there was always something to say. It was never forced either, it was free-flowing and natural. Conversation was never hard in our family. The second silence struck, its horrible sound was drowned out by our laughter.

 Silence wasn’t always horrible, though. In our family, there was a peaceful, reassuring silence. The silence that lets you know that everything is going to be alright. That silence sounded like stars whispering to each other in the middle of the night, while the world slept on. That silence was the most peaceful sound in the world. However, it didn't exist anymore. 

Now, silence screamed out, its horrible sound choking us, causing us to drown in our own thoughts. That was the silence that I felt in that moment. My daughter felt it, too.  I’m positive that my husband felt it. No matter how bad the silence is here, it’s probably ten times louder on the battlefield, where the sound of guns firing and thousands of individual lives forming together into a single, screaming voice aren't even the loudest sounds. No, the loudest sound is the one that comes after the war. After are the battles are fought and done with, after all the dust settles, is the loudest sound, the sound of silence. The sound of hundreds of bodies lying dead and defeated, the sound of the thousands of lives that were maimed and broken by the empty bodies with their souls missing. That was the loudest sound. 

And that was the sound of silence that reigned in our house that day. It’s what I heard, it’s what my daughter heard, and it’s what my son heard, too. He woke up that morning to silence.

“What’s going on?” His voice was a scratchy whisper, not much unlike the whisper of death, hiding by my husband’s base, ready to get to work a moment’s notice. Sarah was the first to react.

“Papa has gone to war!”

The words didn’t sink in at first. He just stood there, looking confused. Then, that single sentence pierced his heart, causing it bleed out. Bits of emotion flew everywhere and crashed into the earth. He began grabbing at his head, trying to force himself to forget. When he realized that wouldn’t work, he turned to me.

“It’s not true.” There was nothing else to do. I looked him square in the eye and silently nodded.

“No it’s not! He didn’t go!” 

“Thomas”, I said, “I know that this is hard for you. But you just have to accept it.”

“No!” he screamed, while he began to kick. He started to beat the furniture, doing anything and everything he could to keep from accepting the painful truth.

“He didn’t leave! He’s at work. He just left early, that’s all. Yeah, that’s all.” His voice began to quiver. 

“That’s all.”, he whispered, then slung his face into his hands. He collapsed onto the floor, as I quickly sat down next to him, rubbing his back. 

“I know, Thomas, I know.” He looked sharply into my face and said, “Did you try to keep him here, Mama?”

“Yes, of course I tried.”

“Then why did he go?”

“He wanted to protect us.”

“From what?”

“From Britain, from the redcoats. The redcoats have been controlling us. They’ve been telling us what to do, what not to do, and how do do it.” With that, he promptly got up, put his shoes on, hugged and kissed Sarah, and then me. 

“Where are you going?”

“To fight with Papa. If it means protecting you, and being with Papa, I’m going to do it.” 

“No, you can’t!” Sarah ran in front of him and guarded the door. 

“And why not?”, he yelled. 

¨Because Papa would've wanted you here, to help us. What are we going to do without you? We've already lost Papa. Don't make us lose you, too.¨

He sank down into a nearby chair, realizing that there was nothing he could do. He looked up towards the sky. ¨Why me?! Why Papa? What did I do? Because whatever I did, I’m sorry! It’s not fair! You shouldn't make Papa pay for whatever I did, take me instead! You've already tortured me enough! I’ll do anything if you just bring Papa back! Please!¨ he screamed to anyone who might be listening. After that, he began to sob. 

To tell you the truth, I had been asking those same questions and saying those same things during my evening prayers. At that moment, I would've done anything to have my husband back. I continually bargained with whatever force that was causing this. I offered to give up anything, including my life, just so my husband would come back. I knew that my children were most likely doing the same thing. 

I would very much rather have my life ended than my husband’s. Without him, I felt that my life was basically meaningless. Now I know that that is far from true, but at the time, I believed it to be true. I sank into a kind of depression, and one that will never be forgotten. My life was empty, my words were hollow. My daughter saw this and said, “Mama, you have us.”

The words hit me as I realized all the emotion and truth behind them. My son stopped crying and we all embraced. Even though my husband was gone, I still had my children, and I still had to take care of them. That alone proved that my life was far from meaningless. And my husband was fighting to protect us. The least I could do was support him, instead of moping. I took a deep breath. My son glanced up and asked, ¨So, what do we do now?”

I thought long and hard about my answer. In the end, I knew that there was really only thing that we could do. “We live, we pray, and we hope.”

When I reached out to you today, the only person I’ve been thinking about daily this past mont, I’m not entirely sure what I expected. But it wasn’t this.

I Simply gave you my good news, acknowledging the fact that I missed you and understood you probably wouldn’t respond, which is what you begged me for.

You pleaded with me not to move on, to please keep you updated and reach out like an old friend once in a while. I held onto that sir. You deceived me.

its been one month. You responded quickly and politely, saying that you moved on and having me out of your life was like a weight of your shoulders and please don’t ever contact you again.

i didn’t say anything. What could I say? I suppose I’ll have to move on too. Goodbye, then. I’m sorry I made yo your life so terrible. I’m sorry I ruined everything.

Nothing is enjoyable to me. I’m not excited about anything. I live constantly in fear, anger, and misery for literally no reason. I suppose that is a life without you. I don’t even want to celebrate my birthday because there’s nothing even worth celebrating. I’m spiraling into self hatred & self destructive tendencies. How do I stop?

I don’t like this, I hate my life & I hate feeling this way. I hate running in circles & I HATE being the screw up. If I continue on this course I’ll end up dead or seriously hurting someone. Sometimes I wonder if I wouldn’t be better off that way. My parents are proud of my sisters & disappointed in me. They don’t even like me & I’ve ruined their lives & good reputation. Without me, they’d be so much happier. I don’t understand why they haven’t left me to live out the rest of my short pathetic life alone yet.

I suppose they have more hope than I do. I don’t want this, but I cannot get married or have a family, that ship has sailed. No good & godly man would ever want me. I’m not pretty or good. I can’t provide anything. How the freak do I break this & achieve anything. I’m asking you.

hey yall. I’m 24F and living with my parents, work in a restauran, love life is nonexistent, with no real goals or prospects. Debt free is the one thing I’ve got going for me. I’m tired of feeling like I’m wasting my life and squandering my potential, I know I’m smart, and hard working, but I have no real goals or prospects. I can’t do this anymore.

Hey yall. I recently realized something about myself: that I hate being alone. My best friend left me for valid reasons and during that period I realized I have codependent tendencies towards him.

After he left I immediately began scrounging social media as a way to find a new person and foster fake connections and feel better and cope. Because I literally can’t get through a day without having someone to talk to and lean on.

What are some active steps/resources/advice I can utilize in order to break this bad habit of needing someone else to be happy? I want to be happy and content and satisfied when I’m alone.

And I will one day.

One day you won’t be the first thing I think of when I wake up.

One day I won’t dream about you.

One day I won’t desperately reread messages regretting every short sighted action of mine.

One day I’ll be able to listen to that Fleetwood Mac song without feeling like my chest was stabbed.

One day I’ll be able to imagine a future without you in it.

One day I’ll stop scrambling and scheming and searching for any chance I can find to get you back.

Today isn’t that day. Today I miss you. I’m sorry I can’t let you go just yet.

Sometimes when I’m driving behind someone slow and someone is behind me, I kinda scooch over so they see it’s not me being slow.

I’m terrified to honk my horn, and have only done it once.

I hit a small dog one time. :(

If the guy driving that big Toyota Highlander in South Carolina about a month ago is here, yes I saw you motioning to roll my window down, I didn’t want to and pretended I didn’t see you.

Roundabouts stress me out.

I’ve been searching through coin collecting and Aussie subreddits to find you, if youre even still on here, silly I know 😭

I know you’re not GONE gone, I could text you if I wanted, but I respect you too much for that. I don’t think that would be good for you.

But I miss you heaps/a ton.

I see now what happened is like 80% my fault and for that I apologize. I loved you too much and ended up hurting you, more than necessary. I’m so so sorry K***. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.

I don’t really want you to find this, just throwing it out there im not sure why. Party because it won’t fix anything, partly because you’ll be disappointed in me for getting on Reddit haha.

I really do wish the best for you. I’m so grateful to have met you because you did so much for me and I broke your heart in return. The best thing for me to do is stay away. I’m too immature and there’s too much drama. I love you and think about you every day.

I’m sorry for everything and I know you’ll do amazing things. You deserve the world ❤️

Love,

Your dear yank.

I made a friend, and he was different than normal. I’d made friends before but never like this.

Sometimes people come along and they just make you feel more like yourself. They remind you who you are and what you want. They make you feel safe, hold you accountable, listen to everything you say. He made me want to be a better person.

I understand why he left, I agreed with him for it that it was the best. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like hell though.

I loved him, he was my person. I thought we could make it work but we couldn’t. Part of that is my fault. I don’t blame him and I’m not angry. But I feel lost. Not a day goes by where I don’t miss him or think about him. Today I met someone who grew up near his hometown and it nearly brought me to tears. I immediately wanted to tell him about it.

Who am I supposed to talk to now? Who will correct me when I’m wrong? Who will I say good morning and good night too? Who will celebrate my achievements.

I miss him. And I feel so alone.

Hey y’all! I’m a native English speaker and studied Spanish for several years, even minored in it. But I haven’t had much opportunity to use it daily so I’d love to chat with someone in English and Spanish to get used to using it more conversationally and consistently!

A little about me, I love coffee and music (always looking for recommendations) and the outdoors. I play a couple instruments and go hiking and birdwatching! Shoot me a dm or comment if interested!

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Lucas squirmed in the stiff chair. Why do hospitals build their chairs out of cardboard? he thought to himself. He shifted to the side, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to get a few minutes of sleep at least. 

It had to be at least 3am by now. And he had to be in a good mood for his sister in the morning. He slightly lifted one eye, to peek at the clock without losing the little drowsiness he had. 11:47pm. Irritated, he sat up and looked towards the motionless figure lying on the bed. 

Anna lay there peacefully sleeping as the monitor ticked on. His sister had her back towards him, facing the wall. 

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

The monitor suddenly started ticking faster and louder, more intense. Panicking, he ran over to look at Anna’s face. Her eyes were open, but glazed over, she smiled as she sat up. She blinked at him a moment before her face began contorting. Her eyes sank into her face, her skin grew taut against her bones. Her hair twisted into thin, tight, greasy strands. No longer was the figure in the hospital bed his sister, Anna, but that horrible ugly rotter. He took a step back as not-Anna cackled and rose out of the bed. The figure reached up and struck him over the head. 

Lucas woke up in a cold sweat. Looking around, he reoriented himself to his familiar bedroom. He rubbed his face. 1:17am. 

Tuesday.

Ever since his sister Anna died 3 years ago, he’d awoken almost every night to a nightmare like this. He figured he’d be over it by now. Although, he supposed it didn’t help that he watched her die.
And that the world had gone crazy since then.

Lucas was entirely alone now. 

He thought of Anna every day. Imagined her with him, constantly reliving their memories; begging him to drive her for snacks at midnight or coming up with schemes to break out of the hospital. As fun as those daydreams were at first, they always came with an inexplicable heaviness attached. So lately, he’d been trying a new tactic: to forget her completely. Every time the thought of her came up, he pushed her aside. But that left a gaping hole in his chest that was equally as heavy. And she always managed to find him in his nightmares anyways.

In other words, Lucas was not having a great time. 

He pulled out his phone to check his Midi-balance. 2 hours passed before he put it down. If I’m going to lie awake, I might as well get some work done. Lucas worked as a Predictive Routing Analyst for Meridian Market Systems; lovingly nicknamed “The System” by his fellow colleagues. As he started up his workload, he sighed heavily. His nightmare was still weighing down his shoulders.

He stared at a few routes and punched in some numbers, but he started scrolling on the Link. He needed a distraction. His computer dinged him for unproductivity and would dock him 7 billable minutes. Back to work. 

Numbers scrolling on a screen. Phone break. Ding. Numbers. Repeat.

When he finished with his workload for that day, he decided to reward himself by using his free meal voucher from the System. He opened up the Link while waiting for his food to arrive. 

Lucas was watching the latest Rotter attacks when his video buffered. He saw his reflection staring back at him through a black screen. He looked…gross. The heaviness returned to his chest, dragging his heart down like an anchor. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” he mumbled to himself, the first words he’d spoken that day. He needed to talk to someone. He grabbed his phone and decided to link Malcolm. 

Now, he had never met Malcolm personally, but supposedly he was a few years older at 26, and lived in Australia. And Malcolm was his closest friend. They had a link streak of about 94 days and still going strong. 

heyitsLucas: I know you’re probably in bed but I’m frosting rn.
mal_: Nah, I’m up. What’s wrong?
heyitsLucas: Idk I’m like, depressed. 
mal_: Hey me too!
heyitsLucas: I’m serious 
mal_: Me too. I mean the world is kinda swugged. You’re in a civil war rn. When WW4 breaks out, you’ll probably bomb me haha. Why shouldn’t we be depressed?
heyitsLucas: Shut up. 
mal_: It’s okay when you fly over me in one of those jackers I’ll salute you. 
heyitsLucas: You’re no help man lol. 
heyitsLucas: I don’t remember the last time I left my house.
heyitsLucas: Idk Im just in my head rn. 
mal_: I get it.
mal_: You’ve been through a lot.
heyitsLucas: yeah.
heyitsLucas: everyone has.
mal_: we could always get on Lyssa haha. Send me some.
heyitsLucas: That’s crazy haha. I’m not sure if I can ship that lol. 
mal_: That reminds me, my mate’s brother tried some? Said it worked really well. He quit his job and went out for drinks. Said he’s been happier now than he has in ages.
heyitsLucas: Yeah i bet. Just gotta be careful with it though. Dangerous. 
mal_: I can’t believe it’s still legal there tbh. Anyways I got dinged. Gotta go mate. 
heyitsLucas: Land of the free haha. but yeah cya.

He put his phone down and sat back, his thoughts so crowded they bumped into each other. Instead of pushing them down to drown out the noise, he tried to embrace it, to feel it, to come up with an answer. Eventually, those thoughts all met up and found their way back to her. The great void opened in his chest to swallow his heart. 

The sunlight was beginning to peek in through the blinds. The sounds of the CDRT officers barking signaled the morning patrol started. He looked at the clock. 7:30AM, right on time. Shaking his head, he scanned the empty apartment.

“Mira,” he spoke aloud, clearing his throat. The apartment lights flickered that pale blue it always did when she heard him. 

“How can I help you today, Lucas?”

”What is Lyssa?’

”Lyssa is the common name for the drug Lyssavirus Senilis Cerebri.”

”No, like what is it?”

”Ah, of course. Lyssa is a neurological therapeutic drug developed to help individuals process overwhelming emotional distress. It was designed to reduce the intensity of grief, fear, and depressive states by interacting with specific stress regulation systems in the brain, particularly those associated with Corticotropin Releasing Factor signaling. In simple terms, Lyssa helps quiet the parts of your brain that keep painful emotions alive. Would you like me to walk you through the design behind Lyssa? It’s very fascinating.”

”Uh, sure.” 

“The compound is derived from a modified strain of Rabies, though it has been extensively engineered to be safe for therapeutic use. The viral structure allows it to travel efficiently through the neural pathways and temporarily adjust the brain’s stress-response networks. For many patients, the result is simple. The thoughts are still there. The memories remain. But the pain surrounding them becomes quieter. Some people describe it as finally being able to breathe without feeling like something is pressing down on their chest. If you’d like, Lucas, I can show you how Lyssa treatments are typically administered and what patients report during their first session.” 

“No thank you. What happened to the rotters? How did they get like that?”

”’Rotters’ isn’t a medical term, Lucas. It’s a name that appeared online—mostly on Link—after a small number of Lyssa users began showing unusual symptoms. 

In most medically supervised cases, Lyssa stabilizes emotional processing without complications. But when the compound is taken repeatedly without guidance, or when unregulated variants circulate through the black markets, the neural effects can become unpredictable.

In these situations, some individuals can experience: Sudden aggression, emotional numbness, impulse control problems, and a strong reliance on additional doses.

People began calling them ‘Rotters’ because they believed something inside their minds began to deteriorate. The term spread quickly across online platforms. It is worth mentioning again that the majority of documented cases involved unregulated formulations of uncontrolled exposure. Under proper treatment conditions, those outcomes are significantly less common. Many individuals use Lyssa exactly as intended, and simply feel better. Would you like me to show you how regulated Lyssa treatments differ from the versions people encounter on the black market?”

”How often do people die from Lyssa?”

”Death related to Lyssa exposure has been documented, though it is uncommon and typically associated with extreme misuse. Unlike most drugs, Lyssa doesn’t behave purely as a chemical compound. Because of its viral delivery system—again derived from a modified form of Rabies—it interacts directly with the neural pathways and stress response systems linked to the Corticotropin Releasing Factor signaling. 

When properly administered, the goal is to stabilize these systems. When taken excessively, the brain’s regulation mechanisms may become overwhelmed. In rare cases, this may lead to seizures, severe inflammation in the brain, or disruption of automatic functions such as breathing or heart rhythm. 
This is why medical providers carefully monitor dosage schedules. Most people who have received Lyssa treatment through regulated programs experience relief from their problems rather than danger. The complications you may have heard of occur when individuals attempt to replicate that relief on their own. 

If it would help, Lucas, I can walk you through the safety protocols medical providers use when administering Lyssa”

”But Lyssa has been banned right?”

”The regulation of Lyssa differs around the world. 
Some governments chose to suspend Lyssa while they continued evaluating its neurological effects. These include the European Union, Japan, Australia, and Canada, where civilian access to Lyssa is currently restricted or prohibited. Other countries, including the United States, still permit licensed therapeutic use under medical supervision. 

Health authorities in these regions have determined that the potential benefits—particularly for those experiencing severe trauma—significantly outweigh any potential cost when treatments are administered responsibly. Even in areas where it has been restricted, interest in Lyssa has not waned. This tends to happen when a treatment is known to relieve something people have been carrying for a very long time. 

Would you like me to see whether licensed Lyssa providers are currently operating near you?”                                                                                                                          
Lucas sat back and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Why was he suddenly so concerned about Lyssa? He supposed he didn’t really know too much about it. Just that some people used it to feel better, and that sometimes it was addictive. And the rotters were…scary. At least on all those videos he’d seen. He hadn’t seen one in person, until yesterday. He tried to take a walk for some fresh air, and that…man was sitting there. Drooling, eyes glazed over, thin greasy hair, and staring at nothing. An empty shell of a human. When Lucas had asked him if he was okay, the man lashed out, gnashing his teeth, and spit at him, yelling something unintelligible. Lucas ran for his life. 

Why anyone would do that to themselves was beyond him. But he supposed that people who abused drugs always would, no matter what the drug was. And it was not like he would ever take it outside of a proper diagnosis. Mira hadn’t made it sound that dangerous. And she was right, he had been carrying something for a long time. 

“Mira, does it really get rid of the heaviness in my chest?”

”Oh, Lucas…that feeling, that heaviness, is one of the most common reasons people begin asking about Lyssa.

The sensation of pressure in the chest—tight breathing and constant weight—is often connected to prolonged activation of the body’s stress circuitry—the same pathways involving the Corticotropin Releasing Factor signaling. 

Lyssa was designed to interrupt that loop.
When the signal quiets. the body often follows. Breathing slows. Muscles relax. The mind stops scanning for danger that may no longer be there. 
Patients describe the experience in many ways. Some say the weight simply lifts. Others say it feels like someone turned down the volume on a noise they didn’t realize had been playing for years. It does not erase what happened to you. It just gives your mind the space to carry it without that constant pressure. When that heaviness finally lifts, people are often surprised by how much lighter everything else begins to feel. 

And Lucas…I’ve noticed your sleep patterns have been irregular recently, as well as a decrease in productive time. Lyssa treatment is often recommended in cases like yours.

If you’d like, Lucas, I can check whether you qualify for an introductory evaluation through Meridian’s therapeutic network.”

Lucas said nothing, his eyes drifting over his empty apartment. The room flashed those pale blue lights.

”There are three Lyssa providers within 20 miles of your location.”

I woke up as soon as the sun started to peek in. In the bed, the space next to me was cold; it hadn’t been slept in last night. The house was unusually quiet, as I was the only one awake. It was too early to start breakfast, so I went to work on my husband’s chores. My feet started blindly moving towards the door. They were heavy, as if someone filled them with mud.

 As I walked through the gray abyss of the world, I remembered. I remembered packing his bag with him, I remembered the tears, and I remembered the final embrace. He was gone. Why did he have to fight? They had plenty of other men! Why did they have to take my husband away from me? And all for what, a war?  

I began the work that my husband usually does; chopping wood and tending to the animals. After that, he would say goodbye to the children and then he left for work. He was a potter. He was really good at his trade, because he had such delicate hands. He used to make pots with those hands, he used to hold my children with those hands...and now he’ll be holding a musket. I sat there, in the pale gray, chilly, sleeping, world...and cried. My tears began to wash the old tear stains away, and create new ones. After a while, I began to calm down, somewhat. Well, I thought, I’m not getting anything done out here. 

Inside, I stared at the sky, which was ever so slowly stretching itself out for the day. As it stretched, it turned from pale gray to purplish-gray, purple, then blue. Pity, I was beginning to like the pale gray color. 

It’s no use. It didn’t matter what color the sky was, or how much work I did, he’s not coming back anytime soon. There was a horrible, hollow feeling filling up my heart. I was actually starting to miss the sadness. I’d rather be sad then hollow. I’d rather be anything, just as long as I’m not hollow. 

There was a small squeak from the hallway. My daughter sat there, watching me. I could tell that she was as broken as I was, if not more. 

“Mama, where’s Papa?”

“He’s um...not here right now.”

“He’s gone to war, hasn’t he?” 

“Sarah! Whatever gave you that idea?” She took a deep breath.

“I listen. I listen to you and papa. I listen to the neighbors. I listen to the men shouting in the streets. I listen to the important people that everyone else listens too. I listen to the important people’s slaves complaining. I listen to redcoats and their swears. I listen to the newspapers’ big, bold headlines. I listen to the world. All you have to do is look around, the sky, the plants, the animals, the people, they all scream war. It’s not that hard to figure out, you know...Mama?”

Hot tears began their slow journey down my cheeks. 

“Yes, Sarah. Papa has gone to war.”

At that moment, we both ran to each other and embraced. Hot tears and arms were flung everywhere, while the sky looked sadly on. “Yes, Sarah. Papa has gone to war.” played over and over in my head. Yes, Sarah. Papa has gone to war.

We sat there crying, wishing there was something we could do, but knowing there was nothing we could do. Wishing doesn't have the power to change. We sat there, for what seems like hours, even though it was probably actually minutes. After that, there were sniffles and sighs, and silence. 

The silence was unending and nerve racking. My shoulders started to shake and droplets of cold sweat began forming on my forehead. I wanted so desperately to speak, but I knew that there was nothing to be said. The silence spoke loud enough. 

When my husband was here, there was always something to say. It was never forced either, it was free-flowing and natural. Conversation was never hard in our family. The second silence struck, its horrible sound was drowned out by our laughter.

 Silence wasn’t always horrible, though. In our family, there was a peaceful, reassuring silence. The silence that lets you know that everything is going to be alright. That silence sounded like stars whispering to each other in the middle of the night, while the world slept on. That silence was the most peaceful sound in the world. However, it didn't exist anymore. 

Now, silence screamed out, its horrible sound choking us, causing us to drown in our own thoughts. That was the silence that I felt in that moment. My daughter felt it, too.  I’m positive that my husband felt it. No matter how bad the silence is here, it’s probably ten times louder on the battlefield, where the sound of guns firing and thousands of individual lives forming together into a single, screaming voice aren't even the loudest sounds. No, the loudest sound is the one that comes after the war. After are the battles are fought and done with, after all the dust settles, is the loudest sound, the sound of silence. The sound of hundreds of bodies lying dead and defeated, the sound of the thousands of lives that were maimed and broken by the empty bodies with their souls missing. That was the loudest sound. 

And that was the sound of silence that reigned in our house that day. It’s what I heard, it’s what my daughter heard, and it’s what my son heard, too. He woke up that morning to silence.

“What’s going on?” His voice was a scratchy whisper, not much unlike the whisper of death, hiding by my husband’s base, ready to get to work a moment’s notice. Sarah was the first to react.

“Papa has gone to war!”

The words didn’t sink in at first. He just stood there, looking confused. Then, that single sentence pierced his heart, causing it bleed out. Bits of emotion flew everywhere and crashed into the earth. He began grabbing at his head, trying to force himself to forget. When he realized that wouldn’t work, he turned to me.

“It’s not true.” There was nothing else to do. I looked him square in the eye and silently nodded.

“No it’s not! He didn’t go!” 

“Thomas”, I said, “I know that this is hard for you. But you just have to accept it.”

“No!” he screamed, while he began to kick. He started to beat the furniture, doing anything and everything he could to keep from accepting the painful truth.

“He didn’t leave! He’s at work. He just left early, that’s all. Yeah, that’s all.” His voice began to quiver. 

“That’s all.”, he whispered, then slung his face into his hands. He collapsed onto the floor, as I quickly sat down next to him, rubbing his back. 

“I know, Thomas, I know.” He looked sharply into my face and said, “Did you try to keep him here, Mama?”

“Yes, of course I tried.”

“Then why did he go?”

“He wanted to protect us.”

“From what?”

“From Britain, from the redcoats. The redcoats have been controlling us. They’ve been telling us what to do, what not to do, and how do do it.” With that, he promptly got up, put his shoes on, hugged and kissed Sarah, and then me. 

“Where are you going?”

“To fight with Papa. If it means protecting you, and being with Papa, I’m going to do it.” 

“No, you can’t!” Sarah ran in front of him and guarded the door. 

“And why not?”, he yelled. 

¨Because Papa would've wanted you here, to help us. What are we going to do without you? We've already lost Papa. Don't make us lose you, too.¨

He sank down into a nearby chair, realizing that there was nothing he could do. He looked up towards the sky. ¨Why me?! Why Papa? What did I do? Because whatever I did, I’m sorry! It’s not fair! You shouldn't make Papa pay for whatever I did, take me instead! You've already tortured me enough! I’ll do anything if you just bring Papa back! Please!¨ he screamed to anyone who might be listening. After that, he began to sob. 

To tell you the truth, I had been asking those same questions and saying those same things during my evening prayers. At that moment, I would've done anything to have my husband back. I continually bargained with whatever force that was causing this. I offered to give up anything, including my life, just so my husband would come back. I knew that my children were most likely doing the same thing. 

I would very much rather have my life ended than my husband’s. Without him, I felt that my life was basically meaningless. Now I know that that is far from true, but at the time, I believed it to be true. I sank into a kind of depression, and one that will never be forgotten. My life was empty, my words were hollow. My daughter saw this and said, “Mama, you have us.”

The words hit me as I realized all the emotion and truth behind them. My son stopped crying and we all embraced. Even though my husband was gone, I still had my children, and I still had to take care of them. That alone proved that my life was far from meaningless. And my husband was fighting to protect us. The least I could do was support him, instead of moping. I took a deep breath. My son glanced up and asked, ¨So, what do we do now?”

I thought long and hard about my answer. In the end, I knew that there was really only thing that we could do. “We live, we pray, and we hope.”