The first child vanished on a Sunday morning and reappeared the next day at the top of the hill north of town. Her parents found the words, “Third grade teacher. Married. No children. Cardiac arrest, 54.” carved into her back. The next child vanished later that same day. When he appeared Tuesday morning he had the words, “Sporadic construction. Never Married. No children. Cirrhosis, 42,” inscribed on his back.

Some debate as to the meaning of the inscriptions lingered as the weeks went on but most agreed that the children's futures had been written.

The doctor advised the parents not to tell the children what words they'd received and to remove all mirrors from their homes. Since the whole town was privy to the words, of course, there were those who found this advice dubious but he was the doctor, after all, and the parents complied and those who doubted remained silent.

The children kept vanishing and returning in the same pattern. No matter how the parents tried to guard their children they always vanished. Some stayed up all night with weapons and coffee but at some point in the night they would realize the child simply was no longer there. Some sequestered the children in pantries or basements, but despite the thick walls and locks, in the morning, they were gone. After a time, the parents stopped worrying because all their worry and precautions did nothing and they grew accustomed to the ineffectual nature of their desire to protect the children. They decided the only thing that would stop the vanishings would be for each child to be taken. Finally only two remained.

Nathalie Baker and Alain Forster sat in the high school gymnasium surround by the parents of the children who'd vanished. The parents murmured to each other over paper cups of coffee and the two children, rigid in their metal chairs, exchanged nervous glances. Around them the hunched forms of parents shuffled around each other like earthworms rolling and twisting in a puddle. No one would look at them. They formed an untouchable boundary, an independent state shut off from communion with its neighbors. Alain reached for Nathalie's hand and she grabbed his firmly. They sat that way for a long time until Alain realized he no longer held anything in his hand.

When Nathalie reappeared, her back read, “No vocation. Never married. No children. Unknown, 16.”

When Alain reappeared, his back read, “No vocation. Never married. No children. Unknown, 16.”

Nathalie and Alain's parents discussed this unexpected circumstance. They decided that it really was best to remove all the mirrors.

~ The Inscribed
~ Matthew Antonio attends Colorado State University's MFA program in Fiction, operates www.littlemachines.net, is the Assistant Fiction Editor for em: A Review of Text and Image, and just finished his first novel.