Lines We Can't See

(This story contains war and weapons)

“Hey, can you do me a favor?” I heard a voice coming from the shadows behind the electric fence. 

--It was that kid, I thought. How dare he talk to me! Wasn’t this treason? But hearing his soft, raspy voice, I hesitated for a second. I had been observing him for a week—he looked about my age, maybe in 3rd or 4th grade. Both countries‘ patrols were getting younger and younger, no surprise since all the adults had been sent to the front lines. He didn’t seem too smart—he hadn’t even figured out where the actual border was, wandering back and forth along a broken wall for days. You can imagine, a chubby little figure waddling through the overgrown weeds, looking like a fat, bumbling cub. Hilarious, right? I decided then—I was just going to call him Cub. I wasn’t going to pay him any attention, but the long, lonely nights on border patrol were too boring, so I scoffed and gestured for him to come closer to where the light was.

The light was on our side; his side was pitch dark. He was holding something carefully—a keypad phone? “Is that a relic from the Stone Age？” I mocked, but his eyes welled up with tears. “What’ can I do for you?” I asked, slightly softening. “Since the blackout, I’ve been saving every last bit of battery, but it’s finally dead. I haven’t contacted my brother in two months. My sister-in-law cries herself to sleep every night… Could you... charge it for me?” What a naive kid. But somehow, I found myself as foolish for agreeing. There was no one else for miles around—probably I was the only person he could ask. Clumsily, he tossed the phone over the fence. I caught it, thankfully, before it hit the Magnetar Surface ground and broke into pieces.

They’ve been without power for months, ever since we cut them off. Their whole country relied on our grid, and now, from satellite view, the nation looks like bald patches—little bright spots in a sea of darkness. Like that bumbling little cub, their whole country is a bit clueless, relying solely on farming and grazing. Their Tribal Assembly is clueless too, wringing their hands over the dead power lines, unable to conjure electricity. But they’re stubborn too—cut off their last bit of agricultural exports. Isn’t that just perfect. Now we’ve been drinking revolking synthetic nutrition shakes for months. If we keep running out of raw materials, we won’t even have those—what were the old folks in the Central Synthesis Council thinking? When they decided to cover 99% of our land with Magnetar Surface, did they ever consider we might need to farm one day?

After rummaging through my uncle’s old junk pile, I found the charger and plugged in the phone. Sure enough, it lit up with a flood of message notifications—probably from his brother to his wife. I glanced past the mushy heart-and-kiss emojis, but a few words like “frontline” and “injured” caught my eye. His brother was fighting on the front lines? The enemy, then. Should’ve known. My uncle was sent to the front lines six months ago. I was glad when he left—first, no more getting smacked by his iron fist whenever I failed an exam; second, I got to take over his patrol job, earning 20 credit points a month; and third, not long after he left, school shut down. No more getting grilled on 'describe the definition of Relativistic Distortion Resonance Field of Adaptive Photon Transitions' either.

When I tossed the phone back over, Cub didn’t catch it, but the soft dirt ground saved it from breaking. “Watch the boarder for me!” he called, and before I knew it, he’d waddled off into the night, leaving the border unattended. I laughed and shook my head. Did his country know they’d entrusted their border to such a bumbling kid?

Half an hour later, Cub returned...but wait—there were two of them now, the other "bear" was even bigger! My heart sank. I quickly tapped the button on my sleeve, and my NeuroMag Armor retractable helmet snapped into place, sealing my head tightly. I’d never used this function before, and the helmet was too big and heavy, making me feel a bit off balance. I saw the woman next to Cub—strong, dragging something massive. As they got within 10 yards of the fence, she suddenly started sprinting and swung the thing in her arms toward me. A weapon? Panic shot through me, and my NeuroMag Armor, reading my fear, forced me to the ground in a prone position. My hands locked into place, and a targeting reticle appeared in my visor—just as I was about to fire, Cub waved his chubby hands frantically. “Wait, wait! Misunderstanding! That’s my sister-in-law! She’s brought you a leg of lamb!”

The scene must have been comical: me, lanky as a praying mantis, and that fat leg of lamb hitting the ground at the same time. I tried to move my arms aside, calming my heart to deactivate the armor. Finally, it released me from its rigid stance. The poor woman cowered on the ground in fear, while Cup stood there, taking his sweet time to react, the calmest of us all. I unwrapped the bundle—the leg of lamb was gleaming white in the dark, its raw, gamey scent mingling with the fresh aroma, making my mouth water. The sister-in-law tossed over some carrots and onions too, saying they’d taste great in the stew. Only now did I realize she was just a young girl—Maybe it was running the household at such a young age that gave her such a matronly figure, or maybe her country’s natural diet of lamb and onions really was that nourishing.

I activated the armor's lift assist to drag the enormous lamb leg back home. My aunt was stunned, but when I told her the whole story, she was overjoyed. She searched around and eventually handed me a rechargeable portable heater and a stove. “Let them use. When the power runs out, come back for a recharge.”

"FluxHeat Environmental Feedback Smart Heater" and "E-ThermaPack Portable Photon Energy Stove." Those impressive-sounding brands delighted Cub's sister-in-law, and soon after, surplus potatoes and meat started showing up on our dinner table. This ignited my aunt’s competitive spirit, and she began sending all kinds of high-tech gadgets to their side.

 From then on, every patrol turned into a lively exchange of goods. We became the delivery boys for both households—Cub’s sister-in-law would send over roasted beef and onion rings for my aunt, while my aunt would machine-wash and press their clothes in return.

I stopped wearing that ridiculous NeuroMag Armor. Instead, Cub gave me a wool coat, soft and warm. In return, I gave him a lunar-powered flashlight, complete with a music player and radio. He was thrilled. 

We often set up my projector and watched movies together, projecting them onto the crumbling wall on his side of the border. When I played Sky Bridge, Cub’s eyes lit up. “You love Sky Bridge too? What a coincidence! I saw it when I was little, but it was banned after that! Is there a new season?” I grinned, “They’re up to season 6 now!” Cub would bring snacks—fresh milk, juice, colorful corn chips, caramel cheese crackers, wheat biscuits, strawberry jellies, and his favorite, beef jerky. I exclaimed, “Beef jerky? My favorite too! How did you know?” It was a luxury item on our side, far too expensive for my 20-credit salary.

We found an anthill once. The ants had cleverly tunneled under the electric grid without getting fried, making one entrance on each side of the border. Digging through that Magnetar Surface must’ve been tough—I helped them out with a little laser. On days we didn’t watch movies, we fed the ants corn chip crumbs, watching them become the unofficial ambassadors of cross-border trade. One day, I poured some of our synthetic nutrition shake on the ground, and the ants avoided it completely. We laughed until our sides ached.

That time was full of coincidences. “What a coincidence!” we would say. What a coincidence that Cub was also in 4th grade. Cub showed me his exam papers, printed on grass paper, and I couldn’t understand a word. “Why memorize 55 types of corns?” I teased. “Isn’t having corn to eat enough?” Cub frowned at my tablet’s exam question. “What the heck is ‘Relativistic Distortion Resonance Field of Adaptive Photon Transitions’ ?” I threw my hands up. “How could I know? That’s why I scored zero on it!” We both burst out laughing. What a coincidence—we were both idiots in school.

"Are you an orphan too? Me too! What a coincidence!” We didn’t feel awkward discussing it. Instead, it became another shared quirk. My mother had died giving birth to me, and my father, a scientist working on some top-secret weapons project, wasn’t even there when she passed. I’d grown up with my aunt and uncle on the border. A few years ago, there was a five-minute news segment about a minor lab accident. A few scientists had disappeared without a trace... It didn’t affect me much, though—I barely knew my father.

When it came to Cub’s parents, he scratched his head, “I was about five. I don’t really remember. I heard they got struck by lightning? What kind of death is that?” He shaked his head and laughed. “Does your brother treat you well?” I asked. “He treats my sister-in-law better. Always sends her jewelry and dresses. Never gives me a thing.” He shrugged, “But my sister-in-law treats me well.” He smiled. “How about your aunt?” “She’s great. My uncle… well, My uncle used to hit me when I got bad grades. but you gotta admit, the man’s fists were legendary. Once, three kids sent their robot to bully me, and my uncle smashed it with one punch!” I waved my spindly arms, pretending to show off my uncle’s iron strength.

Childhood stretched on forever, the silence of the border an unbroken expanse, with war and sorrow fading, distant as the farthest horizon--at least it seemed like.

One evening, Cub was bouncing with excitement—he had received an early birthday gift from his brother, the first one in his life. A few shiny objects in a small wooden box. He generously offered me one. It landed on the hard ground with a clink, and as I picked it up, I realized it was a golden bullet casing. “My brother’s a hero!” Cub boasted, “You know the Golden Maize pistol awarded to him by the Tribal Assembly? He used it in the last battle and killed ten men! Well, nine and a half—one escaped wounded. Look closely! The casing is plated in gold! Check out the engraving!” Sure enough, despite the soot around the opening, the craftsmanship was intricate, with half small corn engraving on the side. "Let me quiz you," I joked. "Which kind of corn is this out of the 55 types?" I joked. Cub burst into laughter.

“My brother says you guys cutting off our electricity was the dumbest thing ever! Your fancy magnetic weapons are useless here—they’re all duds! On the battlefield, it’s people like my brother who really make a difference!” Cub declared proudly. I widened my eyes, “No wonder the war’s dragged on so long. I thought our tech would crush you in no time. But you guys are idiots too. Letting all your crops rot in the fields, no wonder everyone’s as fat as you!” Don’t worry, after all the time I’d spent with Cub, he didn’t mind the jab. He laughed along, “At least I’m not starving skinny like you!”

That morning, when I returned home, I could sense something strange in the air. I went to the dining hall to find my aunt, but there was a familiar, imposing figure seated at the head of the table. 

My uncle had returned. 

My heart sank, but I reassured myself—there was no failed exam paper in my bag for his iron fist to find. The table was filled with my aunt’s cooking—stews, soups, wine. But my uncle sat in silence, not touching the food. I washed my hands in the sonic sanitizer without a word, but as I glanced over, I saw that my uncle was missing a leg. He had a new prosthetic, but I could see his pale thigh without the other half. "Uncle, your leg..." My eyes blured with tears. But strangely, something that haunting my head was that lamb leg, gleaming white in the moonlight.

“Stop seeing that kid,” my uncle said abruptly. His voice was stern, but I could hear a weariness I had never heard from him before. It made me bold enough to look him in the eye. I expected for a lecture on the deep hatred between our nations, on the responsibility of border patrol, on the consequences of treason. I waited for the inevitable iron fist... but as I looked up, I saw a layer of frost in his eyes, dulling their usual sharpness, as if the light behind them had quietly gone out.

“Years ago, when the war just started, there was a stormy night on patrol. My armor malfunctioned, and I accidentally fired, flattening his family’s home. I ran. No one knows what happened, not even your aunt. That kid... he has every reason to hate you, just like our nations hate each other.”

I was stunned, my mind flashing with images of laser beams tearing through the night, the house across the border crumbling into dust. I saw five-year-old Cub, gray and covered in soot, standing next to his brother’s leg, too shocked to cry. And what is that? On the half-ruined wall--I rubbed my eye-- I saw the faint glow of Sky Bridge still playing...

My uncle sniffed and straightened up, forcing a smile as he pulled something from his pocket. “Cheer up, kid. Here, I got you a souvenir. Cost me a leg.” His hand, cold and soft, placed a small object in my palm. It was half a bullet, twisted and warped by impact, but unmistakably golden, with half corn engraving on it.

The next morning, I put on that ridiculous NeuroMag Armor again, following my uncle’s orders. Numb, I dragged all my prized gadgets to the border, my tablet, my projector, my favorite video games, tossing them over one by one. I’d heard people say that adults' hair can turn gray overnight, though I’d never seen it. But that night, my childhood ended in an instant.

Cub beamed when he saw me, thinking he’d hit the jackpot.

“I’m going to the front lines tomorrow. We won’t see each other again,” I said, hearing my voice cold and distant as I stared at his clueless, innocent face. He looked like a younger version of myself, except that “self” now felt a million miles away. “Whoever comes after me as the patrol, don’t talk to them. Stay away from the fence, okay? The farther, the better.”

“Maybe I’ll be off to the front soon.” Cub said cheerfully. He had no idea what he was saying. If he was sent to the frontlines, it meant his brother had died, and his sister-in-law would be weeping again, while he would face the same horrors I would. But to a kid, war meant scenes from Sky Bridge, the hero running through the meteor shower, controlling a falling ship at the last second, racing against the enemy fleet in a beautiful sunset background. But there would be no such grace, no such romance. War isn’t like that. It’s where my uncle lost his leg, where his fists lost their strength.

But even though everything weighed heavily on me, it was the thought of Cub’s chubby figure, trudging back and forth along the empty border all alone, that truly made my heart ache. 

“Well, see you on the battlefield then.” I managed a smile.

But please, don't let me see you again.

**Inspired by the ongoing regional conflicts, even in a civilized world in 2024.

**May no child ever suffer from war again.