The television crackled in the corner of the room, its faded colors bleeding across the screen like wounds that refused to close. Voices spoke of war, of missiles, of nuclear ultimatums. For Maggie, six years old, none of it meant anything. The words bounced against her mind without finding a place to stick. She didn't know what "nuclear" meant, nor what an ultimatum was. All she understood were the images of flames dancing on the screen and the dull fear in the presenters' voices.
She clutched her doll to her chest. A misshapen thing, its face long torn away, its head disfigured, but it was the only presence that did not frighten her. Her only companion, silent, faithful. She pressed it against her bony chest, jaw clenched, as if this doll could keep her from vanishing.
