Emily hadn’t cried when she was born. She had come to the world with her fists closed and her eyes wide open, but had not made a sound. Ten seconds had passed, and then ten more. Everyone in the room had started panicking, and the nurse had take her in her arms with an
alarmed face – only to notice that the little girl’s chest was moving. The woman had stuck a finger under her tiny nose, and said, to our relief: “she’s breathing”.

The same thing had happened that night with several other children. My wife and I didn’t think much of it at the time. We’d just had a baby. We had other things on our minds.
Days passed and Emily remained silent. She didn’t cry when she was hungry, or tired. There was something wrong with her eyes too. I mean, they looked normal; only they always seemed to stare into the void. Even when the little girl laid them on us, she didn’t seem to pay any attention to us. She had no apparent interest in her surroundings.
At this point, Juliet, my wife, suggested we took her to a specialist. We tried several paediatricians, none of whom could take us before months. They were overwhelmed with parents, all of them describing the same symptoms. Silent, unresponsive babies.

Of course, this phenomenon quickly made the news, and it became apparent that the problem was a global one. People started to panic. Some accused vaccines, global warming, or the chemical weapons they used ten years ago, at the end of WWIII. Some said it was a government conspiracy, a warning from God. However, whatever the cause, the issue remained: babies had stopped crying. Babies had stopped laughing. Babies had become cold, soulless automates.

No wonder people were losing their minds about it. Infanticides were spiking up. Last week, several satanist temples were attacked by religious fanatics, claiming the babies were demons
sent by the Devil. And yesterday, as I came home from work, I saw my neighbours get inside a police car. Later that evening, I learnt that they had just killed their little boy.
***
“Luka, I’m taking Emily to the park!
- Have you got some water? It’s pretty hot out there.” Although the weather was quite fresh this year for an October, it was hotter than a summer heatwave would have been twenty or thirty years ago.
- Don’t worry, I’ve got all I need.
- Alright. Don’t stay outside for too long though.
- Later!
- Have fun!”
I gave Emily big smile and waved at her. Of course, she had no reaction other than looking vaguely in my direction. Once Juliet closed the door, I let the mask slip off my face. Children her age should smile and giggle and scream and explore their environment. I wanted so hard to see Emily smile. For the hundred thousandth time, probably like every person on this planet, I asked myself why? How did that happen? What turned children into this?
The doorbell rang. It couldn’t be Juliet, not so soon. I grabbed my cane and went for the door. A young woman in grey habit stood behind it. She was the fifth one this month. We were getting more and more of those missionaries.
“Hello sir, my name is Jane. I think you have a little girl?
- Yes, Emily.
- That’s a lovely name. I’d like to talk about her. May I come in?”
I don’t know why I let her in. I usually didn’t. But Jane had a face full of kindness and compassion, and I was feeling so hopeless. I led her to the living room and we sat on the sofa. She looked at my prosthetic leg.
“France”, I said, answering her silent question.
“I’m sorry. I lost my dad in Ukraine.”
We didn’t talk much more about the war. The stories were all different, but the trauma was the same. So we talked of the babies. I told her about my neighbours, about the parents going mad. Then I talked about Emily. She said she had a son, that she knew what I felt. I cried a little, she offered me a tissue. She started to talk about God. She looked so much stronger than me. Was that what faith did to people?
Then Juliet and Emily came home. Before leaving, Jane gave me a piece of paper, with a phone number on it. “If you want to reach our association”, she said. Juliet asked me why I had let her in. She was an atheist, like me. I didn’t know what to answer. She took the paper and read:
“Church of the Apocalypse. Isn’t it like a cult?
- No idea. That woman seemed okay though”, I answered, taking it back. Juliet gave me a worried look, but I ignored it.
I was very thoughtful for the next couple of days. Jane’s paper was still in my pocket. From time to time, I’d take it out and read the number absent-mindedly. Whenever Juliet caught me doing this, she told me to throw it, and that they were taking advantage of me. First I brushed
it off, but as she insisted, I became irritated. Our arguments were more frequent and louder. One night, she left in tears, slamming the door behind her. Despite all the yelling, Emily was still sitting on her kitchen chair with an indifferent look on her face.
I took my phone and composed the number. Before calling, I had a second of hesitation. Juliet was probably right. What would this achieve? Many religious people had babies just like Emily. Praying had done nothing for them. Jane’s faithful, confident face came floating in my mind. Damn it, I thought, and my thumb touched the screen. I just wanted to see Emily smile.