Post-Apocalyptic Punk

Greetings!

I finally have time to write again! These past few months have been the most difficult of my life. Trying to balance friendships, a wonderful boyfriend, family, internships, normal college courses, and various extra activities is a hard thing to do. In a way I am glad for it because it makes me appreciate good readings and the times I get to read, write, and do some photography.

I have done all three.

First off I would like everyone to take a few days out of their summer and read "The Hunger Games" by Suzanne Collins.



Whether you like young adult or not, this book is sure you leave you satisfied and craving for more of Panem, a post-apocalyptic America. It has reached several generations, both genders, and many different interest ranges. I haven't met a person yet who has walked away from this series without satisfaction or an absolute love of the characters in it. Suzanne Collins is stunningly creative and high visual. What is on the page really comes alive! Do yourself a favor and pick this up at the local bookstore.

I have also had a chance to write a short story inspired by a certain song!

"Give Us a Little Love" by Fallulah



I will ago ahead and apologize for the typos and rough style. I have not had a chance to edit. As always I would LOVE to know what you think of it! Any help, editing, and critique is loved!

The story is:

The Desert

The little hand clasped inside of mine trembled. The wriggling fingers expressed what his words will never be able to tell. His fear was my fear. His excitement was my absolute dread. So much had been left outside so many years ago. We turned our backs on that history, turned our backs on that way of life, and ran inside. Now, after years beneath the surface we were allowed to return. No. We had to return. We had to see what was beyond. We were being forced by some invisible hand to the threshold of our disdain and our ruin.

“It’s an adventure, right?” The little voice said to my hip. I had to concentrate hard to pull my eyes away from the hatch.

My brother, Michael, stood staring up at me with eyes that were my father’s and pouting with lips like my mother’s. His fingers gripped tighter, feeling now like a bird was landing in my palm. An adventure? To him the game was not over. We started this game before- when the sirens wailed like wolves through the alley ways. The only way to get Michael to budge from the house was to tell him that we had to run like the other people. We had to get away from the ghouls and the wolves to a safe place. Only he could lead us there.

That began the torturous game of running through the streets with Michael on my shoulders. He was guiding me left and right, urging me to follow his directions as my feet padded deafly to the bomb shelter. Some of us in the city had prepared for this, others were blind. They believed the government would save them and that this was simply a drill.

They were the first of many casualties that day. The first of many casualties of a war I knew so little about.




When Michael and I first disappeared into the shelter we found several other families crying and holding each other for the fear of what was going to happen. Michael and I struggled for hours amongst the writhing and wriggling people. We were like maggots in the garbage, all trying to nibble at the same piece of rotting food. All of us were trying to get away from the light and head deeper into the dark. My priority was to save Michael first and then find our mother and father.

I still don’t recall how long Michael and I were wondering the halls trying to find our parents. I’ve checked the calendar that was pre-stocked in the shelter time and time again. I tried mapping out where we had come from and how we got to the shelter. Then there was the drifting between people, the fights to avoid as people scratched at each other for food, blankets and other commodities. I found Michael and myself a small bunk to share. The worst part of it was- I would leave him. I would actually leave him there in the bunk while I went to claim food.

The first few hours were hell. Our mayor, our precious leadership, was nowhere to be found. I remember thinking that we were all going to kill each other off for food and then starve when there is none left. I remember watching the wild and maniac faces as they stared from the dark corners, their knees clasped close and their fingers digging in their skin like an animal. They were wild and feral creatures for days on end.

By some miracle, a few days later, our mayor presented himself. He looked worn but healthy and ready to guide us. The families that were present were split into bunkers. Each family was given one, two or three beds depending on how many family members were present and how large they were. Children were to sleep two to a bed. Only a few families needed three beds.

When the Pavel family name was called I stepped up at the same time as my mother to represent what was left of our lineage. I had never been so happy and childish since that moment. I grabbed Michael and shoved throngs of people out of the way as I embraced her. For the next few years we lived in our small bunker. We tried to make it home, tried to find some peace in the small metal cell that was to be identified with home.

Two beds, a chair and a desk. Michael liked to sit on the bed, I wandered the halls, and mother kept to the desk. It was only later that I revisited the bunker that I found the countless letters she wrote to our father. She was asking for help, wondering what he would do for Michael who was experiencing growing up in a complete new light. She asked about whether Claire, myself, was growing naturally enough or maybe I was growing too fast. She asked my father where he was and if he would ever find us again.

I burned those letters.
***

Despite the past, hunger, lack of a decent childhood- we were alive. We all came to this very moment staring up at the hatch door. All of us, the rest of my people staring at this singular piece of metal like a prophet; we were waiting for something to happen.

That hatch was like staring at the barrel of a gun. No one knew what was behind it. It could be empty and we would have nothing but the previous fears and lack of certainty. It could also be fully loaded and read to stab each one of us in the heart. If we met the bullet we could either survive with a desperate wound that bled for years to come, or we could met the end of our suffering and the beginning of hell.

I have the distinct feeling that what greets us outside is not a happy future and not past worth revisiting.

“Claire! Where are you going?” The little voice isn’t so little now that I am
brought back. The boy at my hip is now at my shoulders. His little hand is bigger, coarse from rough play. His lip is cracked from a fight earlier in the week. Michael isn’t five anymore- he’s ten. I’m not twelve, I’m seventeen. Michael has reminded me that I’m grown now. I cannot take cover in the shadows; I have to be the face of this family.

My mother grasps my hand and pulls me back. The few steps I had taken to push away from our destiny were reclaimed. We all waited like moths around a light. A man, shorter and frailer, works his way through the group. The head of hair that coated his neck is no receded and what is left is a perfect shade of white. It seems ridiculous that our mood and our certainty should rest in the faith of this old man. If he smiles we smile with him. If he despairs we are lost forever.

My mother still has a loyalty to the man, a loyalty to the need to be governed. We are different in this way. Where she sees strength in the brittle upturn of his chin, I see weakness in the withering bones. Michael is torn between the two of us as he struggles to pay attention to these monumental moments.

With the help of a hand he climbs the rungs of the ladder step by step. In the years spent calling this place home no one has ever touched the ladder. No one dares to break the distance between the hatch and our safety in the darker corners. Now we’ve all come to watch this man lead us from the hovels in the earth to the mystery beyond it.

My mother’s hand is guiding me forward again and this time she wraps and arm around me. I flinch in reaction and focus all my attention on the hatch that has captivated my existence. I’m not ready to help my mother work through her problem. I’m not ready to hold her up as well as hold Michael in safety.

“He’s not there,” the words escape my mouth before I have a chance to think of them as a weapon. I know my target but don’t expect such cruelty from my heart. “No one is.”

My mother, to spite me, grips me tighter and squeezes me close to her side. Her head rests on my shoulder and the deepest breath escapes her. “Claire…” There is more than I want to hear in my name. There is more in every letter than I want to face now. My hand is clenched on Michael’s so hard that he wrenches free of my grasp and glares up at me.

“Five years ago we cut ourselves from the world and dawned a new age. Five years ago we shrank from the earth like worms. We sought freedom, not cowardice.” The way he speaks helps me to understand the need to be lead, the need to follow with fervor. The words that fall from his lips like burning embers begin to spark a heat inside of me.

“For five years we have made our life here. While we were cut to the wick we have the chance to grow again. Like a forest reduced to ash we will only grow back thicker and more rich. Do not forget these years; do not forget the wrongs that have happened to us. Together we have lived, together we have loved, together we have overcome the enemies way of cutting the head from the snake. Today,” the word rumbles in my chest and I draw closer to my mother. “Today, we prove what Tasit men and women can do!” His fist thrust into the air and in the darkness he was the fire that spread screaming ferocity into our hearts.

The halls echoed with the thundering of our screams and stomps. My mother lifted both our hands into the air and I snagged Michael’s and did the same. We were a family. It was one of the few moments we ever had together.

Only echoes remained as the hatch blew open. The cheers we had given were only to distract us from the moment of fear. Like a needle prick we were all shocked to find the deed was done.

At first there was white. Then there was gold. Finally there was a shape. At the very mouth of the hatch was white light. It filled the hole like the entire sun was trying to fit its way through the small opening. A few strands of pure white light fled into the tunnel and down the ladder. These disappeared to the golden fog of warming mist.

It was a tunnel of direction. The room felt no different, and truly was no different. However, I could feel the air blowing outside. The sound of it brushing over the gap of the hatch could make you feel like you had the very tickle of it on your neck. The light that filtered and sifted down to our weak eyes invited us to the ladder, the only thing the outside world knew existed at this moment.

And like the mayor said, we were born again together. All of us slowly moved to the ladder to clamor into the abyss that awaited us.

Several families later my mother moved forward, captivated by what she saw. I tried to hold her back. “Mom!” I bellowed. “Mom, no!” I was four, lost in the woods again. I was four years old screaming for her to come find me and come save me. This wasn’t the first time I realized that my mother was more than a mother. By now I had realized that she was a woman, a wife, a singular being, and a mother as well. Her needs excelled over ours. We could fend for ourselves.

I let her go as the light grabbed her by the shoulders first. The fingers of gold tangled in her hair and revealed colors of red and silver. Then the golden arms slipped around her back and drew her towards the ladder. She embraced it so passionately with each digit of her hands that I felt a flush rise to my cheeks. What she expected was beyond me.

When her feet were the last thing to breech the light she was gone and another was after her. The thing I remember most is the silence. There was no wailing, no laughter, no cheers, and no screams. The fire the mayor had sparked had burnt out. The match had burnt entirely up and the people had cleared through the smoke of the embers to find what was left.

Michael and I were some of the last members of our people to embrace the light. I expected that golden sunshine to be warm and inviting. I expected it to prey upon my skin that had grown so pale with time. It was cold and empty. The color that seemed so heavy was light and immeasurable.

I came up after Michael with my eyes closed. The light outside was still too bright for any of us. Michael had a hand out for me and I snagged it with dumb fingers. “We have to hold hands,” his voice came from the white darkness. “We will walk together. Tell who is behind you.” My stomach churned. The mayor was intensely serious about the idea of facing the future together. Was he so foolish to see that we had no future? It was all for nothing? Grudgingly I passed the notice back and it continued as we inched forward and forward.

Like blind camels we made our way through the landscape, my feet clumsy on the new turf. Several hours of assimilating my memory to old smells and weaning my ears to confirm old sounds, we had arrived at whatever awaited us.

“Do you remember what the city looked like?” I asked.

Silence. Nothing from Michael was said. Only the noise of the wind brushed sand against my face. Sand? I couldn’t remember our city in detail but I knew we didn’t have sand.

“No,” I heard the fear in his voice. For a moment he was five years old again. “Do you?”

“No.” I wasn’t about to lie to him.

We both remembered the exact layout of the city as soon as we opened our eyes. The only reason we could remember was because we both knew it looked nothing like it did now.

The sand that had before blasted me in the cheek was the remnants of ash and was crumbling of the hold buildings. We were all standing in the main street, staring in different directions. The tall buildings that had once lined the narrow cobblestone path had crumbled in decay and explosion. The bombs that shook our bunker had tossed around the construction like building blocks.

The glass of nearly every window had been blown out and metal had shattered. Several yards down the road was the beginning of a large crater. It wasn’t a steep incline, but slow and sloping like the sand lions my brother and I played with as kids. The angles were gentle and filled with dirt. Televisions, radios, boards, wires, and other appliances slid like gravel towards the bottom of the pit.

The houses that lined either side were brought down to pillars and foundations. On some houses there was still a wall left and the paint and paper of those walls were crumbled, melting to the decay of the bomb residue and the elements.

Buildings seemed to crumble in on themselves like stacks of paper that had fallen from a desk. Some chunks landed across the street and others lay right at the base. What vegetation that could grow back had grown up the buildings and began to conquer them back to nature. The streets were barely navigable. The cracks were parted by force, nature, and elements of rain and ice.

“Claire,” Michael whispered like the boy he still was.

His hand grabbed mine and I tore my eyes away. My vision of him was blurry and tears began to soak my chest. My jaw ached from the tension and the force I mashed my teeth together. In Michael there was life. In Michael there was a fire. There was a fire in me as well. This city had seen enough fire. The mayor had sparked a dying flame but it was only the after math. It was the match that tried to entice a flame out of ash. The city was ash.

“Let’s go.” With that I led Michael away from our mayor and our mother. Hand in hand we clamored through the rubble and the ash. We went away from that place and went to find a new spark.





Once again! Thank you for reading and I look forward to hearing anything you have to say or offer! Have a great week!