Cannonball refuge

"I've been here before," I say as I step out of the car and make my way towards the lake.  We've managed to come across a cottage that will offer us some protection from the pending daylight.

"Come, help us with these.  You can daydream later," Annie hollers as the two of them hoist our rations into the house.

I turn and scurry towards them to help with the off-load.  When most of the goods are safely in the cottage, I return to the trunk to lock it up and grab whatever is remaining.

"How long are you going to carry that thing around?" Annie asks as I pick up my backpack and turn towards the house.

"Dunno," I say back to her.  It's the last thing I have of my former life, and for whatever reason -- I don't want to part with it.

Mildred moves the car into the forest to help shade it from the sun's rays.  Whatever attempts we can make to minimize exposure we do. 

As I enter the cottage a wave of nostalgia washes over me.  Laughter.  Memories.  Summer Parties.  I walk towards one of the windows in the living room and draw the curtains.  The stars begin to sparkle against a periwinkle sky -- and so within minutes the sun will rear its head above the horizon and incubate the toxins that are slowly causing decay to each one of us.

When we have managed to draw all the curtains, I take a seat on one of the couches and begin to cry.  I cry for the people who used to matter to me, and the people that could but will never cross my path.  I cry for the loss that we've all suffered, and the implications it could have on mankind in general.  I cry for cold beer, and the sun against my cheek.  I cry for clear skies, trivial problems, and lost hope.

Mildred and Annie watch me in silence, before one of them reaches for a box of tissue and hands it to me.

"Let it out," Annie says as I wail all my frustrations into a pool of despair.  A few moments pass before the heaving starts, but eventually, like a baby who has exhausted themselves to sleep, I lay my head on one end of the couch and welcome a few hours of relief from this nightmare we are caught up in.

As my thoughts begin to calm, and my breathing subsides -- I try my best to delve into happy memories of summers by the lake, parties, good friends, and a time when possibility was rampant.  I do my best to immerse myself in those pictures in the hope that when I sleep I might be able to revisit those lost moments.  To reconnect with happier times, where the future was impenetrable.

I try to ignore the burning in my gums or the low grade nausea that seems to be the new standard.  I ignore the smell of burnt air and death permeating all around us.

In my pre-dream I imagine myself running down a long dock towards the water -- not a care in the world.  In perfect heath, I cannonball my way into a lake that will not rot away at my skin.  I sink, deep into that cold safe water.  A refuge from all that could ever possibly harm me.  Incubated in the bliss of an environment that was designed for my survival.  Unencumbered by the stress of a deconstructing world.

In that water, I am safe from a rotting civilization.  In that water, I am that girl again.  Young. Happy.  Full of life.  Swimming on a hot summer's day with a few friends while the radio blares a favourite song in the background.  In that water tomorrow is a possibility.  Health is a given.

There, in the deepest parts of the water where algae sways to the soft rhythms of boats in the distance, I am everything I'm suppose to be.  And with the calm that comes from having that reassurance, I eventually fall asleep.