A New Age
A persons past and future
Looking out the window with no glass, he can see the shades of grey of the ashen floor. The sky looks like a swilling cauldron, darkness swirls about it in furious rage. Flowers just burnt stubs like the cigarette that once lined any busy street. It wasn't always like this he thought, he remembered the smells of cut grass, the lagoon-like colour of the sky, the glass in the windows glinting. He wonders if that will ever return, if he will live long enough to see it again, but no time to ponder. He must make his way through the house, he doesn't know where anything is, but his hunger is overwhelming.
He turned his back to the outside world and continued on, his stomach rumbling like a train on shaky rails. He hoped no-one was inside, no-one lived in this burnt husk of a home. He made his way into the hallway and saw shadows burnt into the walls, the shade of black they made sharper than the charcoaled walls. he bowed his head, although it hurt his back to do so. he saw the kitchen at the end of the hallway and moved towards it, he thought he heard movement, but it was just a cockroach knocking over a tin can. Hoping he could find something to eat and that it hadn’t already been ransacked, he moved slightly quicker. Coughing as he arrived in the kitchen, he proceeded to open cupboard after cupboard, praying for an unopened can of anything. It was looking bleak for him, until he saw one tin hidden behind some scorched packets. He grasped at it as if he would be caught for stealing, looked around himself before returning to the living room he had entered through.
The label was missing and he had no clue as to what was in the can. He brushed the can clean of ash and produced a dull pen-knife from his pocket. Driving the knife with force into the top of the tin, he carefully began rocking the knife back and forth, forcibly prying the lid free of its housing. Inside was something that resembled a black soup, it smelt even worse than it looked. Inhaling the aroma made him heave slightly, but that wasn't unusual. He was vomiting more and more regularly recently, although today seemed to be a better day. Pinching his nose he began to drink the contents of the can. It tasted metallic and burnt, burnt like the air was now; trying desperately to hold it down he closed his mouth, if he could just hold it down it might stop the stomach cramps for a while he thought. But it was no use, as soon as he opened his mouth the contents ran up from his stomach and poured out of his mouth onto the floor. As he sat there looking at the pile of blackened vomit on the floor, he noticed two more teeth in the mess. That made ten teeth in the last three days.
The loss of his teeth worried him more than the strands of hair that he was losing hourly now or the blister boils on his back. Without teeth he wouldn't be able to eat, what if he found a rat or pidgeon to cook. There used to be pigeons and rats everywhere, ‘Four rats for every person’ they used to say. He hadn't seen one for days now, not since. He decided to sit here for a while, looking through that glassless window again. The skyline was different now, the tall buildings and big wheel that once sat on the river were broken. He remembered going there with his family about a year ago, cousins, parents, aunts and uncles. It was a happy memory, a good memory, but just that; a memory. Could he make new memories, with a new family, his old family were like the shadows on the wall. His stomach cramped again and he was hit by the memory that day of the burger he ate. It was his birthday and his mum said he could ‘Have a birthday burger as he was 14 now’. The memory of the taste made his stomach cramps worse, so he laid on the floor clutching his stomach.
He didn't want to sleep, but his body was almost forcing his eyes closed, only this time it felt more final. He didn't like sleeping, it only brought the dreams on. The dreams of that day, when the light flashed his family away and burnt everything in sight. The dreams of his father crying on his knees in their living room and his mum trying to lock all the doors and windows, screaming at his dad to do something before the bombs arrive. As he laid on the floor he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer and fell into a permanent slumber.
If you stayed to read through this you might be wondering why it is somewhat different than what I normally write, but I write this as a warning. A warning to us all, that if NATO doesn't stop, if we in the west don't stop appeasing Zelensky and force open the doors of diplomacy, then this story may become a reality for us all. We know that those in charge in western political houses want war, but we don't have to follow along. We don't have to allow our taxes to be spent on our own destruction.