L
Lawless
Guest
Something that just came to me.
He shuffles along the road, his old knees aching with every step. Each crack in the neglected asphalt is perfect it seems for the growing of weeds and even flowers. "Life finds a way" he smiles. There may be no perfect places any longer, but we all just find our way. The basket he carries has a few berries and some dandelion leaves, something nice for a change. Things have been hard since the boom. All of the electric things have been perfectly still since the sky lit up and the boom shook everything. Overnight the darkness became the norm with only the day and sometimes the moon lending any light. Darkness. The absence of light. The absence of hope.
They took her. His Olivia was the reason he pushed so hard. He scratched their food from the earth and gathered the things they needed because of her. She was his, had been since high school. Now, the Keepers had taken her. They came to his farm one afternoon, nearly killed him and in fact they thought that they had, and took his wife. Although he never found her, he had heard the stories about other such happenings.
They wore uniforms, but they did not seem to have any purpose except the torture of everything they crossed paths with. Homes were burned, children were shot down like vermin and women raped in broad daylight. Chaos had become the new normal. Life was lived in the cracks, like weeds in the road.
He could see the check point ahead. There were 8 men there and they were armed. One had a felt Stetson on his head. The hat was easily recognizable, Olivia had bought it for him. "My cowboy" she had said, smiling as she put it on his head.
He approached the truck with feeble steps. Maybe they would just let him pass. The two standing in front walked toward him and the big one put the muzzle of his rifle on his chest. He held out his other hand and gestured toward the basket. Knowing it was no use to protest, he simply handed it over. The second man took the basket and tore through its contents. The fresh dandelions were tossed on the road and the berries were quickly eaten. Then, lifting the cloth from the bottom of the basket, the prize was found. It was a fifth sized bottle of bourbon.
The men ooohed and aaahed. Alcohol was nonexistent these days and the store bought kind was even more rare. They shoved the old man and tossed the basket after him. He landed on his knees, but slowly got back up, retrieved the basket and kept moving on. Behind him the men were yelling and taking turns at the bottle. He turned once, looked at them over his shoulder and kept walking.
After a few minutes, each of the men were quiet. Each was staring ahead blankly as their hearts were slowing. The alcohol had sped a toxic mix of chemicals into their blood and now they would each turn cold and cease to breathe.
The old man kept shuffling. Each thing finds a crack to live in.
He shuffles along the road, his old knees aching with every step. Each crack in the neglected asphalt is perfect it seems for the growing of weeds and even flowers. "Life finds a way" he smiles. There may be no perfect places any longer, but we all just find our way. The basket he carries has a few berries and some dandelion leaves, something nice for a change. Things have been hard since the boom. All of the electric things have been perfectly still since the sky lit up and the boom shook everything. Overnight the darkness became the norm with only the day and sometimes the moon lending any light. Darkness. The absence of light. The absence of hope.
They took her. His Olivia was the reason he pushed so hard. He scratched their food from the earth and gathered the things they needed because of her. She was his, had been since high school. Now, the Keepers had taken her. They came to his farm one afternoon, nearly killed him and in fact they thought that they had, and took his wife. Although he never found her, he had heard the stories about other such happenings.
They wore uniforms, but they did not seem to have any purpose except the torture of everything they crossed paths with. Homes were burned, children were shot down like vermin and women raped in broad daylight. Chaos had become the new normal. Life was lived in the cracks, like weeds in the road.
He could see the check point ahead. There were 8 men there and they were armed. One had a felt Stetson on his head. The hat was easily recognizable, Olivia had bought it for him. "My cowboy" she had said, smiling as she put it on his head.
He approached the truck with feeble steps. Maybe they would just let him pass. The two standing in front walked toward him and the big one put the muzzle of his rifle on his chest. He held out his other hand and gestured toward the basket. Knowing it was no use to protest, he simply handed it over. The second man took the basket and tore through its contents. The fresh dandelions were tossed on the road and the berries were quickly eaten. Then, lifting the cloth from the bottom of the basket, the prize was found. It was a fifth sized bottle of bourbon.
The men ooohed and aaahed. Alcohol was nonexistent these days and the store bought kind was even more rare. They shoved the old man and tossed the basket after him. He landed on his knees, but slowly got back up, retrieved the basket and kept moving on. Behind him the men were yelling and taking turns at the bottle. He turned once, looked at them over his shoulder and kept walking.
After a few minutes, each of the men were quiet. Each was staring ahead blankly as their hearts were slowing. The alcohol had sped a toxic mix of chemicals into their blood and now they would each turn cold and cease to breathe.
The old man kept shuffling. Each thing finds a crack to live in.
