I hate small talk

"C'mon," I say to the mutant as I offer her my shoulder and try and help her to stand.  We head up the mountain towards the others in silence.  I have no idea how my people will react when they see me with her, but my hope is that they too will find a morsel of pity for humanity's sake.

"I'm sorry about your leg," I tell her as we make our way up hill.  I've determined that her leg is probably twisted, and not broken, since she is able to limp on it with my help.

She doesn't respond.

I guess apologizing for a twisted muscle in her leg is trite when compared to the mass slaughter of her friends and family.

"Were they your family?" I asked her as we continue to muster our way up the mountain.  She shakes her head 'no' and so I have some relief -- not much, from the situation.

"You know," I ramble out of sheer nervousness, "none of this would've ever happened had your people not slaughtered my people first." I tell her. 

She knows.

I decide to hold back on the worst small talk in the history of the universe and concentrate on what I'm going to say when we reach the top. 

"Would you like me to walk slower?" I ask her knowing full well that our pace is fine.  My stomach begins to turn in knots and before she has a chance to respond I quickly scoot behind a tree and throw up.

"Sorry," I say as I return back to her and re-offer her my shoulder so we can limp towards the top of the mountain to potentially meet her pending execution.  She still doesn't say anything and so, like an idiot, I fill the void with ramble.

"I think it's amazing that you were able to survive from the south," I tell her as I readjust my shoulder to accommodate for the deeper incline. 

Finally, and blessedly, she speaks.

"We came from the east." She says.  She doesn't elaborate, but it makes a lot of sense.  For a brief second my mind drifts to that text message from eons ago.

I decide that my strategy when I present her to the others is to pitch her as as source of intelligence.  We need her to tell us about what happened out east -- and, since I have maimed her she is in no condition to hurt any of us.

Also - the baby should be a consideration. 

I walk with a bit more confidence knowing what I'm going to say -- but just the same, we slow our pace.  There's no immediate need to rush a pregnant maimed woman up a mountain. 

"You know," I tell her as I lessen our pace even more.  "Maybe we should just give it the night -- leave them be.  You know, approach them tomorrow." I tell her.  She looks at me as if to say 'it doesn't really matter' and so we continue along, up the mountain -- as the early morning horizon winks hello to us.

I hope when we reach the top that there is an ounce of humanity in the hearts of the others.  I want them to take pity on this once-woman; a viable probability for any of us. 

I tell her everything's going to be ok, and somehow, the words melt into the air in front of us creating a path that leads to a better place.  One of peace and understanding.  And, like Dorothy from long long ago, I step onto that yellow brick road of sorts; determined to change the outcome of all our futures.

I believe with everything that I am, that the future lays in the sanctity and respect associated with this woman's life.  With all life.  And, if we are to have any chance at survival and civility we must promote, value and subjugate at any cost, above all other reasons, an infusion peace.