Tonight, Hanoi seems deadly silent. Perhaps everyone is mourning too.

Their shells pricked my fingers, the spikes digging tauntingly into my skin. 

It was the boys' table at lunch. They were all in my grade, some of them my friends. 

I long for the day when lockdown ends and I can safely visit Evie again. 

I am coming of age in a world that doesn't make sense to me. I will turn eighteen quietly, without a party, without my extended family. 

The embassy called and approved our request to leave the country. So we packed our clothes and a couple of other essentials, leaving the rest behind.

We come in droves, frothing at the mouth and baying for blood.

Our enemy invisible, stretched across the world like the taut skin of a drum. 

I do not see the stars from where I stand

but I know they are there. 

He scuttled furiously from beneath the undergrowth, pausing every few seconds to catch his breath. 

They say 7 billion people stayed home today

2.2 billion children stayed out of school

125 miles.

I never imagined they could be so close. 

As we turn into ghost towns and ghost stories,

I memorize the steps, the corners, the edges.