Tag: death

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing

A Writer’s Prompt– Future Earth

Posted on by jennrae

*This is inspired by James Mascia’s writing prompt book Other Worlds

 

The sun glinted off the cracked lens on the top of a knitted basket. She went to pick it up, the seller grabbed her wrist harshly. “What do you got to trade for that, kid? No touchy til I see it.” The man’s voice sounded hoarse and threatening, his grip on her wrist tightened slightly.

“You expect me to buy without a closer look? What kinda fool do you take me for?”

“Not everything that glitters is gold, miss. Let’s see it.”

She sighs. She pulls out her pockets, counts the little coin she has, and other odds and ends that she has found on her travels. A spool of yellow thread, a needle, a couple plastic things, including a plastic soldier with a menacing expression and a helmet.

“You got nothing. Just as I thought.” The man spits at her feet, an ugly wad of brownish gunk.

“Let me go, then. You got me, I just wanted a look see, no harm. Honest.”

“Hmm. No harm indeed.” She saw his eyes cloud over briefly, mulling something over or in reverie perhaps. “Well?” She said giving her arm a jerk. He finally lets go, she rubs her sore wrist giving him a dirty look.

“How old are ya girl?”

“Old enough.”

“To remember what? Clean air, clean water? A time before the return of the great diseases? The ones we thought we had licked. Boy, were we wrong. They are sneaky things, super bugs. They find a way to beat the vaccines, boom, all our technology and fancy dew-dads, they don’t do us no good. All for nothing.”

“So we are done here?” Her green eyes flashed defiance. She was young, how young hard to say. Mal-nourishment had a way of making someone tinier than they ought to be. Plus, looking younger than one was could be an advantage. She was used to being underestimated and had to grow up fast in this cold world.

“You got any kin left? Where are you from?”

“Why do you care, mister?”

“I had a daughter once, and a wife, and even a brother. Brother died in the war with China. Daughter and wife, well, TB got em. So, here we are. Alone, selling what we find on the road. I got an old cart and a mule. and I just venture looking for treasure and to trade stories with other survivors. Hoping to find some information. You see, I had another daughter, that was taken away, years ago, when we were all confined, in the TB ward, she was taken from me. All I have left of that one is this.” He holds up between his thumb and forefinger a tiny blue button.

“How old was she? When you last saw her?”

“She was about three, almost three years old. She would be somewhere around 13 I reckon, now.”

“Well, she ain’t me, Mister. I am older than that. Besides, I know where my family is. They are all under the dirt someplace or other. Some died here, others over there. I have been traveling for a ways now. And, I lost a lot along the way. Been alone a couple years. But, now I am out of anything to trade, except of course my labor. I can trade that well enough, if someone needs something fixed, or a rabbit caught. I have gotten good at rabbit and rat catching.”

“Are you offering your services? Whatcha want the glasses for?”

“Makes it easier to make a fire, I broke my last lens.”

“You aren’t near sighted then. Can you see that sign over yonder?”

She squints in the direction the man points. It is a hand painted sign an old woman is holding. “Looks like, maybe, I’m not sure. Have you seen…so and so, or something.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Here. A gesture of good will. I will accept your services, by the way, because, my last traveling companion took ill and died. I think I may be a carrier of the TB. But, then, if you have lasted this long, you may be as well. Besides, I can see no fear in your eyes. You are ready to die, aren’t you?” The man’s eyes glint in the sunshine, a smile crosses his face as though being ready to die is a novel concept.

“Been fighting to live for so long. Maybe  I have had it all wrong this whole time. Maybe accepting the final destination. Maybe that is the point. Maybe there is some wisdom you can teach me yet.”

She catches the glasses, shoving them on her face, still squinting.”You talk a lot of nonsense, stranger. If you got some food, I would appreciate another good will gesture. Been a while since I caught a rat. And well, I could use the strength to catch another.”

The man motions behind his cart where he has a little fire going and a cast iron pot boiling some kind of vegetable soup. He grabs a hunk of bread breaks it in half, handing her one piece, offering her a metal bowl and spoon. A small rickety table with a couple of beat up travel chairs with a faded green fabric material sat nearby. “Normally I charge for a seat at my table, but considering you are going to be my companion here, I will offer you a seat for free.”

“How kind of you.” She eats the bread with one hand, sloppily dishing out the soup with the other hurriedly. She sits down with a thud, and proceeds to devour the bowl.

“Don’t rush. You gotta make it last. Savor it. Otherwise you will get a tummy ache.”

The girl glares at him. “Don’t tell me how to eat. I know how to eat.”

The man smiles sadly. “Of course. You know everything. This is your world. This is what you know. All of this, its your castle, your home.”

“I am going to stop talking to you. You are crazy.” The man chuckles. “Perhaps. I very well may be crazy. I am caught between worlds. Remembering what was, and existing here. I feel like I was in heaven, but now I am in purgatory, waiting, to finally go to hell.” His eyes go all distant and  the girl refocuses on the soup.

She didn’t care what was actually in it at this point, she just had to eat something to stop the growling gnawing inside of her. The constant need to satiate her hunger was the driving force behind her day to day life. It was the reason to keep going, the reason she found to keep going in order to not think or remember the faces of the others.

The others that hadn’t kept going, the ones that fell before the sickness or the bombs or both. She had to survive for those that couldn’t. Someday, she could tell their stories to others, if there was a day where one could tell stories again and live to see a brighter day. Where one could safely sit and dream and not worry about hunger, and death, and destruction. It was her turn to go distant.

She could hear the man’s snores, as he fell asleep in his chair. She could hear foot steps and animals rustling in the grass. This was life now. Tiny moments among tiny moments, not knowing when the end might come, only that it would one day.

 

 

 

 

Posted in Life

Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda

Posted on by jennrae

I found out through the tangled grapevine that someone from my building passed away, and I feel bad about it, because I can’t count the times I passed by her hurriedly, saying hi, and my mind being elsewhere. She wasn’t elderly either, and she had some issues. I feel now, that it is too late to go back and do things differently, I wish I had been a little nicer, reached out a little more; listened and paid attention to what she was trying to tell me.  I think she was shouting, “Help!” It just came out in different words. And, my brain didn’t translate it as such. It reminds me of a poem I wrote down once, because it struck me as being kinda true. And the last line of the poem was, “I wasn’t waving, but drowning.” I think that was what she was doing, not saying hi, but crying for help.  It’s easy to forget she was someones mother, sister, daughter, grandmother. She was a person, who was actually very sweet, just a little mixed up. I didn’t realize she was in such trouble, I had no idea she would end her life. I wish I had listened more.

But there comes a point where you have to admit, you aren’t a time traveler. You can’t fix things, it is beyond your control. What I can do is think positive, and hope her family is strong. And learn to pay more attention to the signs so next time I can say, yes, I did all I could.

At the same time I’m going through this, I feel guilty for being happy. I feel like I am finally off the treadmill and things seem to be progressing, and then I feel guilty that I’m leaving someone behind that I would’ve moved mountains for. But you can only do so much without the person reciprocating. I did do all I could. I gave it everything I had, I tried enough for two people for months. I did all I could, but he never took my hand. I never wanted to cause him any pain. But you can’t drag a horse to water. They have to want to drink.  And, if that one isn’t thirsty, and you have tried everything, it might be time to find a horse that is thirsty. I can’t swim upstream forever with no hope of anything coming of it.

To the not thirsty one: Please stop making me feel bad for letting go, when you were shoving me out the door! If you want me to be happy, let me be happy. Stop reliving the past. The past is gone. There could have been a future, but you made the choice. You made the decision to not take the risk, to not reach out. Now, you have to live with that. I can say that I gave it my all, and that makes it easier for me. Because I know I tried. I tried so hard for so long. But, I am done crying over you. I’m sorry.

Posted in Fiction, Writing

Danger, Danger…(a character study)

Posted on by jennrae

With steely eyes and a sure grin, she aimed the rifle casually at the unsuspecting deer. She watched as it nibbled absently at a tuft of grass, and paw the ground a bit, oblivious to its fate.  Her partner knelt next to her, shivering despite his thick coat and fur lined gloves.

She wore a little smirk as her fingers slowly tightened on the trigger, waiting for the right moment to strike. Suddenly, the forest exploded in sound as she pulled the trigger, leaving the echo. The deer had a frozen look of fear and went down midleap, twitching, spasming, as its life’s blood trickled from the small circular wound in its majestic chest, eyes rolling back revealing the whites before shuddering still. Silence encompassed them now as the other creatures of the woodland bounded, fluttered, or skittered away with the gunshot, leaving the two hunters completely alone.

The man looked at his partner, the huntress, the killer, the triumphant gleam in her eye of victory, dominance, and superiority. He shivered again, rubbing his gloved hands together to ward off the additional chill he was experiencing.  She approached the corpse and took out her knife. The man found himself looking away, uncertain.  He’d done this before himself, but somehow watching her, experiencing her gutting the animal was different. Something about the look in her eyes as she confidently went about her business, about the lack of stereotypical femininity, bothered him. She became unreal, animalistic; a lioness in her environment.

He had the feeling that he could be next, that he was merely one kind of conquest among many, and that she would carefully gut him, detached from it when she was through with him much like a biology student dissects a frog.  He knew these thoughts were irrational. He knew she wasn’t a lioness. She wouldn’t devour him or break him into a million pieces like glass. But the fear remained and formed an invisible barricade between them.

Ironically, her willingness to learn to hunt was an attempt  on her part to bridge the gap, to break the barricade down. But like everything else, it was her nonchalance, her over capability, her ability to achieve easily that added fuel to the fire of his increasing insecurity.  He wanted to break their engagement but he could imagine the look in her eyes, the “How dare you…who do you think you are” moments. He was paralyzed by the fear of indecision. Like a deer caught in the glare of the headlights of an oncoming car. No matter what he did he heard the warning in his mind,”danger,danger!”