Five months before the sun flares, Lim Sohee and Lim Jinwoo learned that places near the earth's equator would grow distinctly warmer over the coming decade. Deeply dreading the South Korean August Sohee, a cellular biologist in the third trimester of her pregnancy, and her husband Jinwoo, an accountant, decided to move somewhere colder before their third baby arrived.

In a few short weeks they were living in a small town house in New York. Jinwoo, Sohee, and their two children: Soo who was eight and Kigi who was six, and just days after the move the baby was born a month premature. By this time the little family had seen the extreme and unexplainable hatred that their neighborhood had for Koreans, and in a last-ditch effort to let the baby avoid the discrimination that they saw, they named him Patrick.

Patrick was a happy baby, but his prematurity meant that his doctor's visits were often, and that his medical bills were high, but they didn't give up. Jinwoo took the subway every day to take Patrick to a father-son bonding class, and then to daycare before he went to work at a local gas station.

Sohee, having been denied every job in cellular biology she could find interviews for, was struggling to help the family get by with her job as a receptionist at a laboratory in the city. Soo and Kigi walked to the school by their house and walked back home at precisely three oclock every day.

On one especially hot day Jinwoo was on the underground with Patrick, on their way home, while Sohee worked in the city, and the older kids walked home. When the light of the train cut out, followed by an intense wave of heat, Jinwoo was stricken with fear. after a few hours the other passengers found their own ways out of the train, but Jinwoo stayed. Still miles from his home, he hoped desperately that the power would come back and take them to his house, and he sang a soft lullaby into Patrick's ear, remembering nights when his mother would sing it to him.

Jinwoo waited, but finally time had won. His baby was hungry for dinner, he was desperate for sleep, and the oppressive heat felt thick and heavy in his lungs. He climbed out of a broken window, carrying Patrick with him all the while, and headed for the stairs leading to the sidewalk outside. About half way up he clutched the banister for support, and his hand was seared by the shockingly hot metal.

When he looked closely he could see wakes of heat flowing off of the metal and he looked to the top of the stairs, realizing his children's fate. Jinwoo fell to his knees knowing that his children were dead, that his wife would likely not survive the chaos of the city above him, and his total lack of control was more clear to him, in that moment than it had ever been, but in his arms was one, single, wriggling, crying iota of hope. And he made his way to the next exit over, hoping that this one would be cooler.

Weeks later the two of them had finally found refuge with a group hiding out in a skyscraper connected to the underground. They lived with the group for five years. They had made friends, and really become family with the people there, and when they all moved from the skyscraper to the countryside. Their life was a simple one, they hunted for food. They built their houses. They built a new life from the ground up.

Jinwoo missed his family dreadfully. As Patrick grew up it became increasingly difficult for Jinwoo to find the Korea in him. He spoke only english, his skin was the color of his father's but Jinwoo only knew that the family he knew had been killed while he had been left with only the half baked leftovers of their presence. Then the darts came. They reigned down like an act of God, slaughtering nearly everyone. And when Jinwoo found his son with a dart buried deeply into one of his arms he finally saw an out.

"Baby boy, I'm sorry you're sick." he said, as he brushed his son's hair from his face. "But that means that I have to leave you here. It will be best that way." he said. Though Patrick looked unconvinced as he began to bawl, realizing that his father was leaving him. That his father would not fight for him until he died.

Jinwoo walked away from the massacre with a dreadful sense of defeat. He knew he would never have his son back. He knew he would never have his wife, or his other children, and his friends were all dead and gone. Jinwoo took a long knife from his bag that he had carried for years now. He had only ever thought to use it on someone else. Never realizing that the best person to kill was behind the blade.

He cut deeply into his wrists, the flesh tearing and his hand spasming as he ripped through tendons. Blood poured from his arm, and the pain was unbearable. At last, after many minutes, he collapsed. Jinwoo was dead.

Back at camp Patrick waited for death. He sat, his little body tensed with fear, as he waited for some sudden horrible pain, or some other confirmation that he was going to die soon, but none came. He took the dart out of his arm with a sharp pain. He waited more. He hummed a lullaby that he remembered in his father's quiet voice, but no end came.

Patrick stood up, and walked to the little house where he and his father had lived. He got food, clothes, and a knife, and he left. He didn't know if he would die, but he didn't want to do it alone, so he walked.

Hours later he found his father on the ground. there was so much blood that Patrick knew it was too late to do anything. His father's palor was shocking, but not as much as the peace on his face. PAtrick knew then that he had only ever made his father miserable.

Patrick had to find someone to make happy. He needed to know that he wasn't just as deadly as the darts that fell from the sky, so he walked. He wanted desperately to find other people. To find someone to care for him. Two days later he arrived in front of a sign that read "Welcome to Charleston", and he decided that He could be called Charlie.

Patrick was a symbol of his father's distance. Of his demise. But Charlie was new. Charlie was happy. And so he pretended he was okay. Charlie acted the part of the adorable little kid, he ignored the nightmares in which his father would arrive, asking Charlie why he didn't save him, and calling him Patrick.

Whenever he felt stressed he looked up at the stars. Charlie looked at the stars and thought of how he wished to be like them. He was alone in some far off corner of space, and all he was trying to do was shed some light.