It Was Like a Candle

It was like a candle.  One tiny light lost in a shadow of black forever long.  Slowly, slowly, flickering away.
Perhaps it was a star. One of those reddish ones just ready to die.
Or maybe it was the expulsion of the ship as it left us behind.
But no matter what else it was, it was hope.  And hope has left us.
Left me.
To die.

I never would have dreamed of leaving in one of those shells.  Especially not after the last dozen of them have been blown to shreds by the blockade.  But now it is a choice between a long death and a quick one.  At least there used to be a choice, until now.  Because the last ship’s left.
They’re singing the dirge in the street.  They’re leaving the city.  They’re trying to find a decent place die.
But the sky has turned to dust and it falls to the ground and sinks into our lungs.  They won’t get far.
And don’t they know this whole planet is the same city.  All the way around.
Where is there to go?

The sun has gone cold.  The stars are blinking out one by one. The blockade is getting closer, circling around us. Tighter.
Tighter.
Soon they’ll ink the sky.  Turn what little air is left into darkness.  Tangible darkness. To suffocate the life and the ground and the engines.
I long for the light already.

Sky and earth and me. Dark.
They’ve landed here now.  With their shaded masks and red, red hands. Why do they hide their faces?
I have a number on my head.  They gave me one. This number.  I didn’t have a choice.
001201
Twelve oh one.
Huddled in a room full of filth and stink and fear.  I’m chained.  And I’m trembling.  Shivering. Dying.
I can’t breathe this air they’ve made.
Coughing only makes it worse.  But my lungs, they’re so heavy.  Like the whole world sits inside my chest.

Maybe I’m dreaming.  Or maybe I’m dead.
Breath in.  And out.
Eyes flutter for a moment.  And open.
There.  In the distance.  I see a gleam.
Like a reflection of a reflection of a distant star.
But there are no stars.  Not here.  Not now.
Is it real?
I move to touch it.  Nothing holds me back.  The chains they’re gone.  And this room is empty too.
Like the pressure’s been released, I run.
I run.
Forever.
And never any closer.
The star, my starlight, keeps dancing out of reach.
“I’ll find you.”
And I stop.
“I’ll find you.”
Words.  Like and echo in my head.
“I’ll find you.”
Bouncing between my ears.  Sinking to my throat.
“Find me.” I whisper.

I feel it.  Knives in my arms, on my chest. Cutting.  Cutting deep.
But there’s nothing here in front of me.  Just the star that I can never catch.  I must have run for days.
I close my eyes.  Blackness overwhelms me.
Spinning.  I’m spinning like a top.
And I fall.
Falling down a thousand miles and nothing there to catch me.
Screams catch in my throat.
Pain rips through my chest and I jump.

Awake.
Alive.
And tied to a table.
Still darkness.  And still that little light.
But now it’s above me.  Strapped to the head of one of them.  One of them with the red, red hands.
And his eyes are green and golden flecked.  And they’re looking down at my chest.
I look down too.
And if I could breathe, I’d gasp. But I can’t, because there’s nothing there.
Three pairs of red, red hands are taking me apart.

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Tuck

“Tuck,” I say, even though I am sure he can’t hear me.  “We need to go.”

No response.  Typical.

I twist around to get a look at the sky and I swear I see the fringes of purple light creeping up to the stars.  Not good.  If the sun passes the horizon and we’re still here, we’re as good as dead.

“Tuck!”

Still nothing.

The big ugly clock in the center of the city strikes and I jump so high, I nearly fall off my perch with fright.  But I manage to stay on, strong fingers, I guess.  Seventeen strikes.  Seventeen.  That gives us maybe 40 minutes before sunup.  Which might be enough.  Might just barely be enough, if we can get down the slag hills fast enough, and cross the valley without getting lost, and swim across the lake with no mishaps.  But that would only work if Tuck was ready to go right now.  Which he isn’t.  So we’re not gonna make it.

“Tuck!” I say as loudly as I dare.  My voice bounces around inside the hole.

Again, nothing.  Stupid Tuck, gonna get us both killed.

I tighten my pack on my shoulders and reclasp my belt to prepare for the descent.  Climbing’s never been an issue for me; it’s getting back down that’s the problem.  I hate the way ground looks like it is moving, swaying.  They tell me it’s only heat waves, and I would believe them if it wasn’t so cold on the valley floor.  I clip my cord to a twisted piece of metal and take a deep breath in through my nose.  Which is stupid because now I have to sneeze.  Too much dust in this air.

In the distance, a beacon lamp floats up into the sky, heralding the new day.  It reaches its zenith and explodes with enough sound to wake the dead.  Which is a little over the top, in my opinion, cause it’s only the cityfolk that need the wake up call.

And now there’s definitely purple in the sky.  I guess we have 30 minutes tops before we’re dead.  Not nearly enough time to run now.  We’re gonna have to hide till the dark comes again.

“Tuck!” I say, louder than I should have. I look around to see if anyone heard.  No early rising soldiers taking their places on the valley floor. Not yet, at least.

That stupid, stupid boy.  Gonna get us both killed out here.  We’ll be nothing but corpses for the crows.  At least I will, when they shoot me, shoot me through with their sharp little bullets just like they did to old Cory a year and a half ago.  But Tuck is safe, isn’t he?  Hidden away in that reeking slag hole.

Maybe I should go down there too?  Find out what he’s doing… Hide from the sun and the soldiers and…

Nope. No.  Not a chance. Even if it wouldn't break every rule there is about two people in a hole without someone topside, I wouldn’t ever be able to brave my debilitating fear of slag holes (and the creatures inside).  The only reasonable option is to make Tuck get back up here.

I grab a rock and prepare to chuck it down the hole to get his attention, but I just can’t make myself take the risk.  Rocks can be loud, and I know there is plenty of metal down there for it to crash on the whole way down.  But that is what I want, right?  Make him remember that I am waiting up here?  I take a deep breath (through my mouth this time) and pull my arm back.  But I don’t release the rock; I hear a faint scraping sound coming from the inside.  Finally.  Finally stupid Tuck is coming back up.  Boy, is he going to hear all about his tardiness when we get back, I’ll make absolute sure of it.

The scraping is getting louder.  The sun is about to cross the horizon.  My heart is racing and I force my eyes to scan the swaying ground for soldiers.

I turn back just in time to see his hand crest the tip of the hold and I move toward him, angry enough to push him off the side of the hill.  But I freeze in my tracks.  It’s not Tuck.  Not Tuck climbing out of the hole.


It’s a masked face.


It’s my nightmare.


It’s a soldier.  And his gun is pointed at my head.

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To Better Days

            Forty-six remained and that was all. Clad in black and deepest grey, they stood in rows beside their tables, each holding a goblet half full of burgundy colored wine. Waiting. The room was motionless as if frozen in time and no sound penetrated that stillness but the crackle of the fire dancing somberly in the hearth. All eyes were fixated on the man who had led them so valiantly. He stood staring back into the tiny crowd with clouded eyes.
            This was the end.
            He shook his head and cleared his throat; his piercing gaze moving from one solemn face to the next.
            “We meet for the final time.” His deep voice shattered the silence, but still the others refused to move. “We have tried for a very long time to fight off the oppression that has come upon us. We have tried to keep everything as it once was. But that was not to be. For no matter the wisdom of our pleading, the people choose to follow a leader whose spoken ideals and promises he had no intention of keeping. But they followed him, followed him blindly. And they adore him.
            “Our war is over, friends. Your great courage and bravery shall be remembered by none now but ourselves. But still I am grateful…” The man’s voice broke and he bowed his head. He did not see that most of his small audience also had tears coursing down their faces.
            Defeat; it seemed so shallow, so empty.
            Their leader looked up, his face once again composed.
            “May freedom never die. May we never forget what this nation once was.”
            He raised his goblet high into the air. Simultaneously, all of the others did likewise.
            “To better days.” He pressed the cold glass to his lips and drank.

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