Jason Weiser

Everyone except her.

At the next opportunity, she turned from the path that she was on and went north, to Barcelona.

From there, she would find out if there was really more to life than anguish and death.

And the place to begin her search would be on a boat to Rome.

Pedro, a voice called out from above deck.

Pedro, aka Doña, called back that she would be right there.

Rope that would have torn her fingers and palms months ago, now held firm to calluses.

Doña tightened the rope around the vessels, full of oil or wine, and finished belaying the line on the other side.

She walked the length of the ship to go speak to the captain, or rather, Pedro did.

It was a name she felt like she had a right to.

And it helped.

And by being Pedro, she could give him the life that he never had.

It spurred her to be the best version of herself.

Because it wasn't her name.

It was his.

His legacy that he would never get to leave.

Doña must have been below deck longer than she thought.

Because she couldn't help but close her eyes and throw up a hand, for good measure, when she emerged into the Mediterranean sun.

The barrel of the pistol sent a chill down her back.

before she managed to withstand the light.