You're Gone And My Shoes Are Untied

You're Gone And My Shoes Are Untied

Emily Nieves

04/23/2026

Waves crash against the panes of glass lining the school building, threatening anyone sheltered inside who dares to come out. Inside, school desks are abandoned, worksheets half finished and contents of backpacks spilled out onto the floor. The electricity has gone out, save for a bright red emergency light in the corner of the room. The light illuminates an exhibit of student projects, all on the subject of new flood-resistant architecture. Ironically, these models have all fallen to the floor, now floating atop the few inches of water that have made their way into the classroom. An environment once filled with life and hope is now cold, waterlogged. The sloshing of water brings the room into motion, as legs push their way through the water. Scraped knees, untied shoes, and a small but desperate voice, shouting: “Mama!”

The first broadcast – One week before Ares

Bryce’s life was one of routine: wake up, shower, brush his teeth, get dressed, wake up his mom, make breakfast, rush to finish his homework while he waits for the boat, and head to school. Today, though, was special: it was Bryce’s birthday. As he slowly came out of sleep, he could sense movement in the kitchen. He sat up in his bed and felt something on his chest – a handmade birthday card from his mom. The front was decorated with cutout paper balloons, all different colors and bunched up, tethered together. When Bryce opened the card, a small picture fell out, and he could see his mom’s handwriting on the inside. The card read:

Thirteen years ago today I got to meet you for the very first time. I didn’t know then how special you’d be, but I always had a feeling. Thank you for being the best thing to ever happen to me.

Bryce smiled, tears creeping into the corners of his eyes. He picked up the photo that had fallen out of the card and found it was a hospital bed and a small bassinet next to it – him and his mother. Her smile was the brightest he’d ever seen. On the back of the photo her handwriting noted “08.19.2087 – the best of days!” He held the photo tight, rubbing away tears and sleepiness from his eyes as the room around him came into focus.

The sunrise dressed his walls in warm orange light, reflecting off of the “one way” sign his mom let him take home after their visit to Old Sunset. It hangs proudly on the wall next to old family photos, a calendar two months out of date, and crayon drawings of the waterlogged city. In the corner of the room, a short desk and a beanbag chair stood as Bryce’s work desk, where he spends his time studying and doing homework (or coloring if he gets distracted). A dinosaur lamp on the desk has been left on from his last session, washing his notebooks and pencil pouch in a soft green light. A small six-cubby bookshelf next to his door was stocked with coloring books, toy baskets, and school supplies. His turquoise-green book bag is propped up against the shelf, flap pulled open and stray papers sticking out of the top.

His bed was his favorite place in his room. Simple but comfortable, a mattress flat on the floor covered with enough blankets and pillows and stuffed animals to almost hide the mattress underneath it all. One special stuffed animal stood out – a particularly well loved cat, hair matted and one button eye missing. It could be seen in most of his childhood photos, taped above the head of his bed. His first birthday, the cat tucked under his arm as he sits in front of his cake topped with one lit candle, baby Bryce somehow already covered in frosting. Taking his first steps, big burly hands holding his own as he stumbled towards the little cat across the room. Moving day, with little Bryce and his big backpack as his mom packed their lives into the back of a boat. His first day of school, his second place win in the spelling bee, his elementary school graduation; remembering the photo in his hand, he crawled over to his desk, retrieving pieces of tape. The newest photo would be placed right over his head – the most special photo of them all.

He peeked out of his bedroom and saw his mom, already awake, humming to herself in the kitchen. Her movements were slow but firm, concentrated as she moved about the nook. Pancakes, it smelled like. A birthday tradition that Bryce never grew tired of. Chocolate chip eyes and a whipped cream smile always greeted him on this day. As he came closer, his mom noticed him and smiled before pointing to her ears. He hadn’t put his cochlear on yet, so he shook his head and she nodded in understanding. Happy birthday sweetheart, she signed. You won’t need that thing for you to taste how good this is.

Bryce had been deaf since birth, and it had never truly bothered him. Sure it was harder for him to make friends, but he felt it helped to weed out the bad ones. His mom made the decision to go ahead with cochlear implant surgery at the age of two, though she still went through the effort of learning sign language herself in order to teach it to him. His dad never latched on, he remembers. Bryce and his mom would have silly secret conversations that sent them into laughing fits no one else could understand. His mom always “got” him. He thought that even now as she plated both of their pancake breakfasts, hers covered in sprinkles and topped with a strawberry while his was the all-familiar sugary smile he so loved.

Breakfast was perfect; Bryce always felt his mom was an incredible cook. She couldn’t cook as often anymore as she got weaker, so Bryce would step in and take on meals instead. He wasn’t nearly as good as her, but according to her he really knew how to scramble an egg. They talked and laughed as they ate, with mom stopping to cough when the laughing fits got to her. Once they finished, Bryce offered to help clean up but his mom brushed him off. Go wash up, she signed. It’s your birthday, let me do this for you. She put on a strong face, but Bryce could see her hands shake as she picked up their plates from the kitchen table. He shook away whatever thoughts were creeping in and decided to take her advice as he made his way to the bathroom down the hall.

After a particularly cold shower – not Bryce’s choice, but the weather’s – he stepped out and caught sight of himself in the mirror. He’d gotten taller, he thought, or maybe he was just in denial about still only being 5 feet tall. His curly hair, once frizzy and full, was now weighed down from the shower water, curls sticking to his forehead. His green eyes stuck out against his bushy eyebrows and squared features. As he brushed his teeth he wondered what he’d look like without any eyebrows at all, giggling to himself. He was soon startled out of his thoughts by the sound of a slamming door.

As he peeked out of the bathroom, hair still wet and lounge clothes loose around him, he felt uneasy. The air felt sickly, cold like the moments before a fever breaks. His attention turned to his mother’s bedroom, the door closed. She rarely ever closed her door. The last time he remembers it shut was the day before he saw his dad for the last time. Remembering this unsettled him, and he decided this time he’d confront it. As he approached the bedroom door, he hesitated, hearing a voice on the other side that did not belong to his mother. He turned the knob on the door and heard the muffled voice grow louder as the door cracked open, his mom coming into view huddled in front of their radio. The broadcast was chopped up by interference, but in between the static he could recognize distinct words: danger. flood watch. debris. hurricane. evacuate. high rise. Ares.

The frenzy – One day before Ares

As the days grew closer, the wind grew quicker. Scientists outside of Florida had given up their time to focus on the prediction of the storm, which all culminated tomorrow. School had been cancelled once the first broadcast went out about hurricane Ares. The buildings were now being used as resource centers for citizens to stock up on supplies. The streets were flooded not yet with water, but with sirens and panicked voices; megaphone voices calling out instructions, families packing their lives into the backs of boats and driving out of the city, adults arguing over little things like who was in line first at a time when it shouldn’t matter anymore. The wind coming into the city was now bending trees at its whim, palm fronds floating atop the risen water like a promise of destruction.

With school being cancelled, Bryce now spent his time at home with his mother. He knew she was getting worse, even if she’d never talk to him about it. He watched her as she kneeled on the kitchen floor, her frail hands loading canned food into duffel bags, shaky but not from fear. Her face was stone and determined, though Bryce could see there were cracks, and right now he needed the soft mother that was hiding within that shell. All he knew to do was kneel beside her, grab her hands, and look into her eyes. Voice shaking, he started singing her favorite song.

Stuttering
Cold and damp
Steal the warm wind, tired friend
Times are gone
For honest men
Sometimes, far too long for snakes

His eyes had fallen closed as he sang, and when he opened them he found his mother in tears watching him. She pushed the duffel bags between them aside and pulled him into her chest, heaving as she steadied her breath. They sat there on the apartment floor, rocking back and forth in silence. Her voice rumbled against Bryce’s body as she sang.

Black hole sun
Won't you come
And wash away the rain?
Black hole sun
Won't you come
Won't you come

They stayed like this for a long moment, both forgetting about hurricane and flood watch and danger and temporary and death and change. The silence was broken by the crackle of the radio, pulling Bryce and his mother back into reality. Her once steady hands now found again their tremor as they raised to brush away Bryce’s bangs. Her voice shook as she told him: Everything’s gonna be okay, right? We’ve made it this far and nothing’s taken us out yet, so what’s a little more? Even as close as she was, her voice sounded muffled and distant. Her hands found his shoelaces and knotted them tight with something unspoken. A strength enough to be her last, a plea to not come undone without her there to tie them back up. As she stood, she wiped her eyes and shook away the moment, her stone face stitching closed once again. Her mouth opened, but no words could come out before a large bang against their apartment window.

Ares – One day early

Winds. Rain. Water levels rise high enough to lick the bottom edges of the apartment windows. Palms bang against windows like they’re trying to break in. Mothers and sons huddle under countertops and pray to whatever god is listening.

Soon enough a window breaks. Water rushes in and soaks the floor, quickly flooding the apartment nearly a foot high. Bryce scrambles up onto the kitchen counter, losing hold of his mother’s hand. Water churns through the apartment, taking his and his mother’s possessions with it. Scrapbooks, Christmas presents, stuffed animals, all whisked away by the unforgiving storm. He shouts for his mother but hears no response. Reaching behind his head he feels no cochlear device; it must have fallen off in the chaos. He feels the counter shake under his palms and soon it is uprooted from the floor and pulled towards the hole in the window. He clings to it as it rushes him out into the midst of the storm. Rain crashes down on him, disorienting him enough for him to lose hold of the counter. He slides off into the water and it flings him in all directions. As Bryce fights to keep his head above water he spots his school building amidst the chaos. He pushes against the current with everything he has toward the school dock. The winds and water combined scratch at his eyes, tear at his skin. He barely gets a hand on the dock before a wave sends him slamming into the wood platform and everything goes black.

Bryce awakens in a room painted in red light.