The city of Erida was beautiful in the fall. Its hills, once covered in foliage that had been crisp and green with youth and excitement lulled to calm, pastel shades of golds and browns and pinks and oranges during this time. The maple leaves that had fallen blanketed the ground with a fantastic mosaic of reds, so dense and rich it resembled spilled blood.

Each morning, the brightening sky awakened Erida’s citizens with a gradient of largely varying colors. While the west was still blanketed in the deep, rich navy of night, the east would begin blooming into the rose-pink of dawn. When the critters in the hills began to wake up, the air filled with a congregation of birds harmonizing in a dawn chorus. Gentle zephyrs followed the gliding birds, and the valleys came to life, confessing a feeling of bliss, of tranquility.

All the while, the colors in the sky bled from the east, preparing the land for the arrival of the sun.

While a place beautiful as this is naturally hidden from much of public, it is well-known, and its rolling hills and deep golden valleys in all its glory could be seen from one single point on the top of a mountain, a point that must be passed by anyone coming from the south. The view from the sole path is usually completely obscured by majestic redwoods and shrubbery as if protecting the exclusive city from prying intruders. But this point, this point lay completely open to curious eyes. Whether the trees once there were struck down by lightning, were a portal opened by God to give despondent travelers some much-needed hope, no one knows, but the existence of this point made many covet to experience it.

The few who walk past without noticing—those so weary and heavily tolled by the hundreds or maybe thousands of miles of journey—even those would sacrifice their throbbing feet to walk back for a double take. In short, the view, so awe-inspiring, so breathtaking, was impossible to miss.

On this day, Lina sat against a great rock marking this spot and peeled off her disintegrating, mud-caked, pitiful excuses of shoes with relief. She absently massaged her aching feet and grimaced at the sting of provoked blisters. The torrential rains followed by grueling heat had shrunk the linen loafers beyond the point of recovery, and it would be safe to estimate they were at least two sizes smaller than they were when she had started her journey. But they were all she had, so they were what she used.

Besides, succumbing to pain was for the weak.

She gazed far-off at the sight below and felt tears of respite well up in her eyes, threatening to spill out. Lina was not one to cry, especially not in front of her children. That too, was for the weak, so she held them in with an immense strength she did not know she had left.

Finally. Finally. She had been told for years now that this place, Erida, was where she and her five children, her babies, would finally find refuge. Refuge from eighteen hour work days for pay of thirty-three dollars per week, refuge from violent gangs who looked at her girls with lust and her boys with thirst.

She was told that, here, assuming she was willing to work hard, she would find work, she would earn money, and her kids would no longer salivate at the sight of salt licks, having gone hungry for so many days.

But still, she sat in that one spot, trying to force on herself the feelings of hope, of eager anticipation she knew she should be feeling. Optimistic as she tried to be, her faith had been crushed so many times in the past that even when she was this close to her ultimate destination, it took serious coaxing for the little flame of excitement to reignite in her.

Her brief moment of tranquility was interrupted by her chattering children coming around the bend, and she pulled herself to her feet with some difficulty and strain, forcing down her feelings of ambivalence. Her gaunt frame and disheveled yet prim look depicted anything but the typical standards of being maternal, something she was very pleased with. For whatever reason, maternity seemed to always imply being soft, nurturing, fastidious. She was none of the above.

Despite her attempts to suppress the stereotypical characteristics that made mothers weak, her heart clenched at the sight of her gangly, emaciated Mateo carrying a sleeping, feverish baby Zeke on his back. Behind them trailed Bri, Lenna, and Mathilda identifying plants, giggling, chattering.

Every single one of her children’s names meant strong, and while she had been guilted and even criticized for being unoriginal, she was a pragmatic woman, and her children needed the strength. She liked to believe that, if not for the little blessing she gave them at birth, they would not have made it this far with relatively little issue. Unlike many of the other unfortunate travelers, besides baby Zeke’s fever and a few scratches here and there, they made it fairly unscathed.

The children’s moods rose and fell like waves — calm, compliant, sweet one minute, only to come crashing down in a mess of violence and noise moments later. After hundreds of miles and weeks of walking, however, with only Teo having the physical capabilities of carrying anyone, even Lina did not blame them for feeling this way. She would have been acting this way too, if she could.

She looked at her children coming up the bend. If not for the streaks of dirt and tears lining Mathilda’s face, the bright, sunny smile on her face would have fooled anyone from guessing she had been having a meltdown just moments before.

The children quieted as they neared their mother, moving closer to guarantee she would feel their presence, yet simultaneously allowing her to remain lost in thought. The long journey had brought out the worst in each of them — the children had learned to be tentative around their mother like she had learned to be around them.

Lina’s weary brown eyes met Mathilda’s grinning gray ones, ones that radiated trust and enthusiasm.

With a tired nod of acknowledgement from her mother, Mathilda took her thumb out of her mouth just long enough to ask, “Mama, we gonna be there soon?” Her sweet little voice jerked on Lina’s heartstrings once again. She marveled at how seemingly all children, despite any hardships they’ve had to overcome, managed to hold onto the faith they had in the world.

She wondered at what age it was that children stopped viewing the world through rose-colored glasses.

Then her eyes shifted to Bri and Lenna, standing somberly behind their sister, eyes hollow and subdued, and answered her own question.

Nevertheless, she channeled all the positive feelings she had been gathering, suppressed all her doubt, and mustered a real smile.

“Soon, love, soon.”

And soon was right. Before the midday sun had reached its apex, Lina and her children had reached the bottom of the mountain and were looking at Erida, up-close and personal. Other travellers were already gathered, waiting eagerly to be let in after weeks of walking.

The view seemed even more magnificent now — comparable to Atlantis or Neverland or Emerald city. Lina almost wished that, like in Oz, they would be given green-tinted eyeglasses, simply to protect them from the sheer brilliance and glory.

Teo, a ways up with Zeke still on his back, turned back to her with tears streaming down his face, mouthing something. Lina typically chastised her children for crying, for showing weakness, but she didn’t blame him this time. They were finally here. They would finally be given the chance to have a new life.

She sped up in his direction, Bri and Lenna in tow, Mathilda trotting in front. Her stick-thin legs made her trip every time they ran over a rock or a pothole, but her babies kept her up and she kept running and running, the end finally in sight. Teo was shouting the same word over and over again, and Lina allowed herself to feel true happiness at his enthusiasm and the prospect of hope.

In the chaos, with all the people around,  it wasn’t until they were a few mere yards in front of him that Lina made out what he was saying.

“Run.”

Lina was confused. They were running, why was he still yelling?

And then, chaos exploded around them as cartridges fell, and Lina finally understood. Teo was crying, not from the overwhelming emotions, but from the lingering effects of previous cartridges. He had realized before the thought even entered her mind, and, even in a time like this, she felt proud to be his mother.

She looked back in the direction they had come from and finally realized that the “rocks” she had been tripping over were cartridges. Their excitement had clouded all of their other senses. They were being gassed.

Lina reacted instinctively — grabbed Lenna and Bri, whose hands were still gripped in hers, and ran. As she ran, tears finally streamed down her face, and it was like opening a dam. A dam filled with years of tears saved from mistreatment and guilt and disappointment. They kept flowing, cascading down her weathered cheeks and cracked lips, caused both by the gas and the gut-wrenching guilt and pain of knowing she had left Mathilda and Teo and Zeke on their own.

People around her ran. And dropped. Dropped like the bags of rocks the people of Erida thought they were worth.

And then Lina’s malnourished legs gave out from under her. She had given and given and given, so much on this journey, that there was simply nothing left to give. She knew it would be pointless to get back up just to fall again, so, as she asphyxiated, with her little remaining strength, a strength she suspected would kill her if used, she gave Lenna and Bri each a push.

“Keep running. Don’t look back.”

At this point, the tears were streaming down her face so furiously she could hardly see, but still, she clawed at the ground, turning herself and rubbing her stomach raw, in the direction of her three remaining children.

She didn’t expect to see anything. In fact, she hoped her other children had run so far off she wouldn’t be able to see them.

So her throat constricted even more than it already was when she saw Mathilda, not thirty feet from her, lying on the ground, coughing and scratching at her throat. Lina scooted herself in Mathilda’s direction, knowing it would be futile, but still unwilling to succumb to the pain, to being weak.

And as she did, she looked at Erida, past all the writhing bodies and used cartridges, and found it still glorious and spectacular as ever, almost glowing through the fog. And she couldn’t help but admire it.

After all, the city of Erida was beautiful in the fall.