The Skull and the Heart

Dear Planet Earth,

We’re packed up in Jeeps, ready to act as a diversion for murderous mole men, I’m using a cane surprisingly well considering it’s my first time, and I think I was offered a sponge bath by Dr. Brooke, but by far, the most interesting part of my day was the conversation I just had with a seven year old boy.

An older woman here, I think Nancy or Ashley is her name, warned me ahead of time that I’d get a visit from my mysterious skull thief. He came up to me just as I was about to take a much needed seat in the back of one of the trucks (I never realized how hard it is just to stand sometimes).

“Hello,” I said, shocked and a little frightened of the scowl across the boy’s face. “Or ‘hola.'”

He thrust the contentious skull towards me. I could see layers of ash caking his small fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

The soldiers around us lifted crates onto the vehicles, the civilians cried goodbyes to the friends and relatives they were leaving at the hospital. Somewhere, maybe only a few miles away, an army of subterranean invaders were on their way to kill us all.

“Who are you?” I asked.


I searched the boy’s face, his unkempt hair, his faded Superman shirt, for something, anything that said more than “Marco.”

“Why’d you take it?”

He shrugged his shoulders, and his scowl began to fade as he blinked a few times rapidly. He hung his head, but the arm and skull remained outstretched.

“You can hold on to it for now. You’re coming with us, right?”

Marco nodded, spun around, and made a beeline for the truck with Nancy or Ashley.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” I said.


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