Thunk the Bitch

"You're in here late," says the cook as he wipes the last of the tables with a rag.  I walk to the area where they keep the leftovers for those of us who are hungry over night and help myself to some dinner.

"Yeah," I tell him as I try to muffle the grumblings in my stomach.  My hunger has returned with vengeance.  I had forgotten how painful it can feel to have an aching empty stomach...

Before I can turn to sit at the table, the tavern door creaks open.  Instantly my shoulders hunch closer to my heart; warning me that danger is near.

"What?" I say as sternly as I can, looking the bully in the eye.

"You think you're so special," snarls the woman from the fire who walks over and shoves me to the ground causing my food to go flying.  The plate lands with a loud clammer.

"What the hell is your problem?" I say, and manage to stand up before she approaches.

"You.  You don't help.  You think you're a princess!" She squeals.

"What are you talking about?  I'm sick, lady.  Starting to get better.  I couldn't help -- it was nothing against you personally," I say as I walk towards my mess to try and salvage what I can.  Food is still a scarcity and I don't want to be wasteful.

"You can help," she says and kicks the plate away from my hands. 

The cook turns his back to us and pretends that nothing is happening.

"Okay...," I say not sure how to play the situation.  "So, what are you going to do, beat me up to teach me a lesson?" I ask.

Somehow my ability to confront her causes her to lose her momentum -- and for a moment she freezes, but then as the anger filters back into her peanut sized brain, she raises her fist--

And so, I wince.

"THHWHAACK!!"

I open one eye from behind the safety of my arm to see the bully lying face first on the ground, having been knocked over the head by a broomstick.

I turn to the person who intervened and thank her.

"I'm Karen," I say as she reaches out her chubby arm to help me stand.

"Consuela," she tells me as she readjusts her shirt, and gives me a big smile.

"Nice to meet you!" I say, forgetting my hunger and walking quickly towards the tavern door under the watchful guard of my new friend and her broom before the beast awakes.

"Yerz too," she says and thunks the bitch one more time on the head before following me out the door into the safety of the cool dark crisp night.

The Deadly Electric Current

"It's beautiful," I say to Jimmy as I trace my fingers over the words he's engraved in Annie's headstone:

Sister and Friend

"She'd like that, it's simple.  Understated," I tell him as he wraps the stone in a blanket and places it in the trunk of the car for me to bring to her grave when I leave.  The car has been ready for a few days, but my health still needs some recovery -- or so that's what Donna tells me.  I think she likes my company and might be prolonging my stay.  We seem to get along better than the others, and I think Donna will be sad when I leave.

It's dusk.  The haze in the upper atmosphere has almost lifted -- so tonight we are gathering to gaze at the stars for the first time in months.  Some of the others have been busy constructing benches and barrier stones for the community fire pit.  Tonight will be the first time we've gathered to enjoy a fire rather than use it for incineration.

"When do you think you'll leave?" Asks Jimmy as we walk along the road that will lead us back to the centre of town.

"Well, I would like to leave soon.  I feel strong.  My hair is growing back," I say to him without making eye contact, which somehow makes it easier to say what I want to say.

"Ah," he says as we make our way towards the fire. 

As we approach, Donna greets us and ushers us over to a bench that she's saved.

"Aren't you going to help?" Someone asks from behind.  I don't recognize the voice, so I don't turn around.

"Hey, you!  Lazy bitch, I'm talking to you," snarls the same voice.

I turn around to see who they are starting a fight with, when I realize that the harsh words are directed towards me.

"Huh?" I say as eloquently as I can muster given my confusion.

"Leave her alone," pipes Donna who has some sort of authority because she is one of the few doctors in town.  "I've requested she not do any work in order for her to recover.  She's been through more than any of us.  So, back off."

That seems to shut the bully up for the time being, but I can still feel the animosity writhing through the air like a deadly electric current aimed at my soul. 

I try to smile and make pleasant conversation with Donna, but the seed has already been planted.  The woman who made hard words at me sits to the left with her arms crossed muttering to some of her friends who nod in agreement. 

They're blaming me for not being able to help them -- even though they know that I needed to recover and was far worse than any of them.

You would think that since there is so few of us left now, that they might have a bit more compassion for those of us who can't pull our weight.

But they don't.

And so, as the night sky begins to seep into vision, causing the flames to glow a brighter shade of white then orange, I wonder how much time is left before that current inevitably becomes an under pull, dragging me down to a place where I am rendered useless -- both in the cold lurkings of their imaginations, and by the warted concensus of virulent opinion.

Snapples were meant for sharing

"You are a spoiled fucking brat!" I scream at Consuela as I whip a set of tongs at her head.  She manages to duck just in time for the tongs, but didn't prepare for the scooper that I whipped two seconds later -- and so, it bounces off her right temple causing her to sway in her spot for a moment before she regains her composure.

"Mia, what iz yers problems?!?" she yells back at me as she grabs some ice from the cooler and places it against her head.  I'm surprised that Consuela hasn't thrown something back at me, but I think she realizes that she's pushed me too far this time.

"My prob-lu-hem," I start, ignoring the customers in line while I give her a piece of my mind, "Is that you have no compassion!" 

Consuela rolls her eyes and makes an apology gesture towards those who are still waiting to be served.

I'm not done with her.  I cross my arms and wait until Consuela has no choice but to rescind her earlier decision and make a sandwich for the woman standing at the counter who can't afford to pay in full. 

A moment later when I've calmed down I apologize to the other customers and take their orders.  The woman hands Consuela the change she has managed to collect from panhandling, and simply asks for a water before sitting at a table in the back that our Apple-faced friend finished cleaning a moment earlier. 

"You're very kind," one of the customers says to me as they look to  the woman sitting at the back eating her sandwich and sipping every now and then from her water.

I nod, and then brush back some of my hair before placing their sandwich in the toaster oven.

"Drink?" I ask them when I turn back around.  They tell me they would like a Sprite and a Snapple.

I put both drinks on the counter near the cash while I ring up their order.  A moment later the customer walks over to the woman eating at the back of the shop and hands her the Snapple, then turns back towards me and the cash to pay.

I smile and thank the customer for their generosity -- telling them that their next lunch is compliments of the house.  They place their change in the tip jar and walk out.

I turn to Consuela who is refusing to look at me.   With her back turned to me she busies herself grilling meat for the taco filling.  I walk over to her and tell her that she could learn a thing or two from that last customer of ours, but she just snarls back at me; telling me to 'leeves herz alones'.  Which I do.

I smile and turn to the next customer, taking their order and making sure that our Apple-faced friend is watching so that I can put him on sandwich duty in the next day or so.  I like this sandwich/taco shop that we've started. 

And if fat-ass Consuela could put more energy into sharing some of her good fortune instead of squandering her money on another Juicy Couture track suit; well, I'd like it a whole lot more.

Good things come in paper bags

When I finish scrubbing my hands, I take a moment to inspect my hair growth in the mirror.  Tiny fuzzy hairs surface along the once bald patches; like the kind you see on a baby duck.

"Looking good," Donna pipes with a smile as she walks towards the sink beside me.  We've just finished disinfecting the second floor infirmary.  Donna was right.  There have been no new visitors since the teacher passed the other day.

I take a deep breath and turn my right cheek towards the mirror, then my left.  The sunken black circles under my eyes have disappeared.  The porridge we've been eating has added a certain plumpness to my face.

I look younger, healthier; alive.

I use my fingers to draw my hair back up into a pony tail before turning to walk out of the bathroom.  Donna follows a few steps behind. 

The village is coming along nicely.  The generators and mill have been able to create a liveliness around town.  Despite all that's happened there seems to be a certain pep in the air; a sense of relief and pride.  The people here are happy to have a place to call home.

I suppose I would be too if it wasn't for the fact that I believe better things are waiting for all of us out West.  Most of my new friends and neighbors think I'm crazy.  To them I'm the town fool caught in a fantasy; but I don't care.

Eventually Donna catches up as we head outdoors where Jim is waiting for me with the car.  He stands there with a shovel and nods a 'hello' at both of us as we approach.

"What's that for?" Asks Donna pointing to the shovel with a confused look on her face.

"There's something I need to do," I say cryptically as I walk towards the passenger side door and slip into the car.  Jim puts the shovel in the back seat and slides into the drivers' seat.

"Well, don't take too long." Donna says as Jim starts the car, "We've found a projector in one of the houses so we're going to have a movie night against the wall of the hospital."

"We won't," I say.

A moment later we're driving down the road towards the inner toll station where the man on duty is half asleep at his chair.  A few moments after that we waive goodbye to the man now on duty for the outer station.  He stands there with a couple of friends gabbing away.

Everyone, including Jim, is certain that no one else is coming.

I look out the window unable to recognize the landscape.  The last time I drove through here, the haze had just begun to lift -- and so my visibility was skewed.  Now the fields no longer seem like flooded cesspools, but rather mulchant land that will one day birth new crops.

I look into the distance, through the breaks in the once ominous forests as we drive along. Jim hums a familiar song that I can't remember the name to. 

Sooner than I expect, we are at the side of the road where I left Annie. 

When I get out of the car, I look around and am marvelled to see how beautiful it is here.  The sky has yet to return to its familiar shade of blue, but there is promise dotted along the horizon as the sun streams through less toxic air.

"Do you want to stay in the car?" Jim asks.  I know he is trying to be considerate, but the thought of not laying Annie to rest disturbs me -- and, when he can read the agitation in my face he smiles and walks over to the edge of the road to see if he can find her. 

I take a deep breath, and try to prepare for what I might see.  My mind starts to whirl with thoughts of her being torn apart by wild animals -- but then I remember that none of us have seen any animals in quite some time.

I'm relieved to see her still lying there, wrapped in the plastic tarp and in one piece.

Jim finds a nice place by a rock off the side of the road; and so he begins to dig.  It doesn't take long since the earth is still water lodged, and I find it quite miraculous that Annie wasn't swallowed whole.  Part of me wonders if she's been patiently waiting for me this whole time, but I shake off the thought when it's time to put her to rest.

Jim carefully lifts her and places her in her new resting place.  We stand there for a while before covering her with Earth.  I pull a note out of my pocket and place it next to her head.  And, after saying a nice but short eulogy, I grab the shovel and begin to cover her body so that she will always be warm; always be safe, and always be remembered.  I tell Jim when we're done that I'd like to come back and carve something on the stone where she lays, so that people knew she existed -- that she mattered; that she was a good friend and sister.

He smiles and puts his arm around me and tells me that if I want, he will make a headstone for her.  That seems to agree with me, so I tell him that I would very much like that.

A moment later Jim shifts the car into gear and we drive away from the dilapidated forest near where Annie lays.  I make an effort to take in the landscape as we head back to town -- to enjoy it for Annie, and Mildred, and all those who aren't able to be with us today.

And even though I feel like a Paper Bag Princess walking naked and exposed through a ruinous world, I know that existing has no meaning if I'm not able to appreciate all that I do have.  A precious gift that both Annie and Mildred would very much like to be in possession of: life.

And so, because I have been bestowed with the honour of living, I take a deep breath and turn to Jim and smile; making the most of this moment we've been given.  Because life, as we are well aware, is precious and fleeting.  It's a gift that should be treasured; even if it does come in a damp and soiled paper bag with no label and very little direction.

Hungry Abyss

"Is it stupid that I was hoping she would make it?" I ask Donna as they carry the body past me towards the fire out back.  Donna hands her side of the gurney to someone beside her before responding, "No."

We stand there in silence as the body is placed on top of the fire.  At first it seems as if she will lie there forever, draped in white linen -- impervious to the flame; but a moment later the smoke begins to billow from beneath her right side, and eventually the fire consumes her as with all the others.

We stand there in silence, each of us lost in a whirlwind of thought and remorse. 

Donna speaks first a few moments later, "I don't think we're going to see anyone else."

The idea that this place really is a petri dish for life scares me; and I try to shake off the thought because I would rather believe that the network is momentarily fragmented -- and that we will all reconnect in time.

I look around at my temporary neighbors.  Most of them travelled here from East and North.  I am one of the few to survive from the South.  None of us have any news from the West, but I am determined to travel there and find out for myself. 

I take a seat on the ground, and a moment later Donna does the same.  We sit side by side in silence as we watch the funeral of another fallen comrade.

"What do you think she did for a living?" Donna asks a moment later.  I try to give it an honest answer, one that is worthy of dignity and respect.  "I bet she was a wonderful teacher -- one that the students would go home and gush to their parents about." I say, because good teachers always make the world a better place.

"I bet she was one of those cool ones," chimes Donna with a smile,"the kind who let you draw on the chalkboard during free time."

I nod.  I know exactly what she's talking about.  There are teachers, albeit few, who have the gift of mesmerizing children; a Pied Piper of sorts.  I close my eyes for a moment and imagine this woman smiling in her rocking chair at the front of the classroom while her students race to sit around her for a story or an interactive lesson.

I bet she was the type of teacher who made everything alright.

"She wouldn't have done well in a world with no children," I say looking around the town.  Donna turns to me and nods, and somehow that gives me comfort in knowing that this teacher is in a much better place.  A happier place where children are eternal, and story time can happen every hour on the hour.

Moments bleed into longer moments as the fire crackles and burns.  For whatever reason, I sit there for the remainder of the cremation; hypnotized. 

Eventually, Donna stands and re-enters the hospital. 

Alone and for a brief second I mourn the woman that I never knew, but then regain my composure when I see the others walking towards the Tavern for dinner.

I try not to think about this latest funeral too much as I continue about my evening.  It's counterproductive, and I need to concentrate on regaining my strength.
 
And so, like everyone else I'm sure, I hover ever so awkwardly above that dark place in an effort to survive. 

But the darkness is real -- lurking stealthily below me; reaching for my dangling feet as I hang helplessly from a branch in a Hungry Abyss that is slowly and ruthlessly trying to swallow me whole.

It's Tuesday

"You okay?" asks Donna when I'm finished throwing up.

"Yeah," I say as I use the bottom of my shirt to wipe my mouth.  I've been feeling nauseous today but Donna thinks it's just my body readjusting to nutrition.  Things have quieted down at the hospital.  We've had no new visitors these last few days and there are only a couple of people left in the infirmary.

This morning I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror; and -- to my amazement, the yellowish tinge of my face has turned to a healthier pink.

"You know," Donna starts as we walk back, "we're fine.  Everything is under control.  Why don't you go and rest?"

I nod.  Resting isn't really an option at the moment, but I decide to use the time to check on Jim and the car.  Jim didn't lie when I first met him and he said that there was '800 of us' here.  But what he neglected to tell me was that over 100 would not make it through the week.

The remainder of us have gone about making town more comfortable.  A couple of Engineers have managed to create a plumbing system using various generators and the local mill.  Some people have claimed houses near the hospital; and of course, there is the tavern where our meals are prepared for us. 

I've decided to sleep in the hospital rather than occupy a house that someone else might want.  I don't want to get too comfortable here.  For me, this is merely a pit stop.

As I approach the garage where Jim is working on my car, I can hear him humming away off-beat to the various clunks and clanks that go along with automotive repair.

"Hey!" I say as I pop my head in the doorway.  At first he doesn't hear me, so I take a seat on one of the stools and wait for a moment where he pauses.  When he finally does, I try again, "Hey!" I say one more time with gusto.

He responds from under the car, "Hey back," before sliding out a moment later to properly greet me.

"You're looking good," he says as he walks towards a case of cola on the ground.

"Thanks!" I tell him and catch a glimpse of my healthier complexion in the side view mirror of the door closest to me.

"This should only take another day or so.  I'm on shift again tomorrow, but I imagine that the car will be ready to go by the weekend," he tells me.

"That's great", I say but catch myself trailing off.  A moment later my eyes begin to well. 

Jim wipes the oil from his hands and comes over to sit near me, pulling a stool with him.  When he crouches down to my eye level, he extends a hand to my shoulder and makes eye contact.

"What's the matter?" he says.  I don't say anything at first, so he interjects.  "You don't have to leave if you don't want to.  You can stay as long as you want, you know."

I nod.  My lip begins to quiver, and I tell him that is not what I'm upset about.  He leans back giving me the space to speak, and so I blurt out what is really bothering me.

"You said by the weekend -- but.... I don't know what today is!" I say, half-laughing at the stupidity of how it sounds.

He smiles, relieved that it's something trivial.  "It's Tuesday.  Now you know." He says as he cracks open his soda and takes a large gulp.

I sit there for a moment looking at my car.  In the back of the garage, I can see the old lining from the trunk. 

Jim hasn't said anything about the blood.

"Aren't you going to ask me what happened?" I ask him a moment later when he catches me staring off towards the past.

"No," he says and takes another gulp.  "You can tell me if you want to, but I don't need to know."

I smile.  I decide to tell Jim another time -- on a day when I'm not feeling so nauseous.  I also decide that before I go out west, that I'm going to go back for Annie -- with Jim if he'll come.  I want to give her a proper burial.  One that she deserves.

I stand when I realize that maybe Donna was right and that I should rest. 

I waive to Jim as he slides back under the car and turn to walk back towards the hospital.  I try to keep my eyes from closing as I waiver along the dirt road that will take me to the main street.  Thoughts of Annie and Mildred begin to seep into the forefront of my thinking. I don't resist, because I feel to do so would be a huge betrayal.  Instead I let their memory permeate through my being, hoping that as my cells rejuvenate on a daily basis -- so will they. 

Perhaps it's silly to believe that thinking of someone fondly after they are gone gives meaning and purpose to their existence, but it definitely helps me to assuage the guilt -- that it was them and not me.  After all, I'm not so special.  I'm just a girl caught in the hem of a nightmare -- tangled in a tightly woven seam and unable to escape.

Home is where the heart is

"Zat's it?" Grumbles Consuela who is unable to hide her discontent.  The three of us are standing in front of the abandoned store front that I've purchased.  It's a busy morning in the city, but this particular area seems to be rather peaceful at the moment.

"Where's your imagination?" I smile as I pull out my key and open the door to our new shop.  "It's Perfect!" I exclaim with a big smile.

The two of them stare at me blank face; as if I'm trying to sell them swampland.

"Why don't you like it?" I ask a moment later when it's clear that I'll have to perform some sort of voodoo in order to get them on the same wave length.

"Itz dirties," says Consuela who finds herself too fancy these days to take a seat at one of the tables left by the previous owners.

"Well, that's the thing about dirt," I tell her as I walk over to the sink behind the counter.  I try to ignore the mouse feces near the bottom of the cabinets as I reach for the faucet to turn on the water.  I'm instantly greeted with a loud guttural sound.  The plumbing has taken it's last breath. 

Brown gunk oozes from the tap.

"Yes?" Consuela goads me.  She's not impressed by the amount of work that needs to be done -- especially since she is well aware that she'll have to do the majority of the cleaning. 

Our new friend isn't so proud.  Most of his cuts and scrapes from the other day are well on their way to healing.  He happily takes a seat at the table next to Consuela.

"Home?" he asks. 

I am immediately revived with purpose.

"Yes!" I say as I realize that there is a momentary connection between us.  "Home.  Home is upstairs," I point and then motion for the both of them to follow me up the back stairs to a series of small apartments that come with ownership. 

"This is your new home," I say to him as I open one of the doors and watch him walk into the room with awe and wonder. 

The apartments are in much better condition than the store front.  The artists that lived in them took relatively good care of them.  When the painters come in the day after tomorrow they will look as good as new.

I lean against the main wall of the apartment letting the sound of the now busy street below envelop all three of us like a warm welcome blanket. 

When I realize that my eyes are closed, I open them again to see our friend scouring the floor for treasures.  I watch with almost as much excitement hoping that he finds something to commemorate this new chapter, but when he turns up empty handed I simply shrug my shoulders and tell him that there will be lots more lucky pennies in his future.

The sentiment seems to pass right through him, but he does manage to give me a big smile before saying "Home!" again with excitement.

"Mia, yerz iz toos nice," says Consuela who has very little tolerance for him.  I cut her a sharp glare that lets her know that she better change her attitude, and a moment later she flashes me a fake smile before turning around and stomping back down the stairs.

"Come on," I coax, trying to entice him to leave the apartment.  His excitement has frozen him in his spot, and so I let him stay  a few seonds longer to enjoy this moment. 

When I hear Consuela yelling at the Contractors who have just arrived to 'not breaks anysing', I know we need to move along.  "Come on," I say again -- but he just flashes me a great big smile. 

In an effort to snap him out of delirium, I decide to try a different tactic.  I give my hands a large *clap* hoping to gain his attention; but much to my amazement and delight he replies instantly and with near perfect timing;

"Johnny Appleseed, Amen!"

Sweet Dreams

"You didn't stay out here all night, did you?" I hear as I open one eye and look up to see the man who calls me the dreamer.

"Uh, yeah..." I say as I rise and shake some of the ashes off my clothes.

"Didn't they tell you where to sleep?" He says as he offers me a hand and we begin to walk towards the tavern for some breakfast.

I nod, "They did, I just -- it just got to me.  That's all." I say as he opens the door for me and we walk inside.  This morning there is some sort of cereal concoction being served with what I assume is a powdered milk.

"It's soy milk," says my new friend as we walk back towards a table.  "They had it in storage for the cancer patients in the hospital," he tells me as we sit down and scoop into our breakfast.

"You know, you don't have to help them today if you don't want to," he says casually when the silence has gone a bit too long.

"I don't think its a chore that anyone wants," I manage to say as I take another spoonful of my very bland concoction. 

"Aren't  you going to ask me my name?" He quips a moment later when he's finished his food.  I do, and he tells me it's Jim -- so I tell him mine.  We do the polite 'where'd you come from' questions; and when it's time to begin the day we return our dishes to the washing station and head outside. 

"Dream anything special?" He asks me as we both walk toward the hospital on the road that will lead him back to his station.

"Not really -- if I did, I don't remember." I tell him.  He pauses when we reach the front entrance of the hospital and says, "Is that your car?"

I nod, and he begins to whistle -- then laughs.  "Well, you'll have to do some magic on it if you want it to take you out west."

At least he's not telling me that I shouldn't go -- or trying to convince me that this place is Utopia.

"How long will that take?" I ask him.  He tells me that it could be as long as two weeks.  That he is happy to do it for me, and that there are a few garages in town that would have any parts he might need.  I thank him and tell him that I feel stronger already, so as soon as I can I would like to leave.

He gives me a smile before turning to continue down the road and says, "That's the thing about dreams you know, they happen -- you feel like you're in them forever; and before you know it they're over."

I chew on his words for a while.  Perhaps it's my fatigue or maybe I misheard what he said; but I don't really understand what he's talking about.  In any case, I take a deep breath before re-entering the hospital.  I try to imagine that the bodies I remove this morning are in a dream.  That each of them is in a majestic place filled with the wonders of their imaginations.  I hope that each and every one of them are really free -- released from the bondage of the mental anguish caused by their time on this planet.  I hope that somehow in their dreams they manage to release themselves from any pain that comes from existing within a physical universe; and that more than anything they are happy and at peace; and that this nightmare we are all still living is as forgotten as my dreams were to me this morning when Jim woke my by the embers of last night's fire.

Toe tags and the Reluctant Puppy

I run into Donna on the stairs.  She's hurriedly tying up the back of her smock halfway between the second and third floor.  "What are you doing here?" She asks as she slides her protective mask over her head and affixes it to her face.

"I want to help," I say and motion towards the second floor.

She pulls back her mask long enough to scold me, "Trust me.  This isn't anything you want to see."  Before she can escape through the doors, I retort "Trust me, I've seen worse."  Before she can holler back at me, someone else on the stairs throws me a smock and a mask -- and a moment later we are all headed toward the infirmary.

"Don't talk to them.  Don't make eye contact.  We're simply in there to remove the dead," says the same guy who threw me the mask.

Before I have a chance to respond, we are through the doors.  It's quieter now than it was earlier.  Donna uses some sort of battery operated light to give us a clear view of the place.  It's a long narrow room with rows of beds on each side.  It houses at least 100 bodies.  Donna moves swiftly from one bed to the next.  When she is certain they are gone, she toe tags them and moves on. 

I stare for a moment at the body beside the man who was just tagged.  She moves ever so slightly, and so I take a step closer.  I can see her badly boiled skin and know that she is in a lot of pain.  Her eyes are closed, and she trembles -- like Mildred did near the end.  Her hair is mostly gone and her mattress is soiled with sweat and urine.

"I'm sorry," I say to her before the darkness takes over and I'm forced to follow the light. 

After a couple of hours the dead from today are removed, and a caravan carries them out behind the hospital for cremation.  I follow the young girl's body out when I see that she is the last from today to be tagged.  Because she is close to my age, I have an overwhelming sense of guilt.

"How long do they suffer?" I ask Donna who stands there stone faced as she watches the last of the bodies burn.

"We only put them in there if they will be dead within a day or so -- past the point of healing.  Everyone else, we try.  Some are lucky.  Some not so much," she says without turning towards me.

I watch the colour of the smoke change from black, to white, to grey as it consumes each and every body.  None of us seem too disturbed by the odor -- our penance perhaps for not being able to help.

I stand there longer than everyone else.  I stand there until the embers turn to ash white and the stars twinkle brightly in the black of night.  I stand there, humbled to be alive but at an existential loss.

In my former life I had a purpose.  Here, my soul has been dismembered.  It merely follows me like a reluctant puppy; with no where else to turn.

I sit there letting the cool of the night air wash over me.  In the morning, there will be more bodies to burn.  So for now, I cling to the placidity of the night and what little comforts it offers to a girl with no purpose, in a flowerless garden, barely existing -- in a world with no name.

Hello Neighbor

"YERZ GETS DA BACK HERES!" screams Consuela with a deafening curdle as she wobbles after a gang of kids who just stole her money.

I happen to turn the corner to the parkette just in time to see one of them whip by me, while the others laugh ahead of him.

"YERZ DIRTIES BASTERDS!" she screams with all the venom of the universe. 

Even my eyebrows raise as I catch a glare from her that stops me short in my tracks.  As she wobbles off in the distance a million miles behind them, I finally process what just happened.

Seeing that her Taco Stand is safe, I turn around to help Consuela chase after the rug rats who obviously have nothing better to do.

I immediately realize that not going to the gym these past few months has limited my ability to race down the street with ease; and as I huff and pant like a fat woman doing jumping jacks in a sauna -- I know that either way; when this is all done, I'm going to have to hear an earful from Consuela.

"Consuela!" I yell between heaves, "I'm ri-i-ight behiiiind you!"

The kids break to the left and whip around a corner.  A moment later Consuela also disappears; and I'm left to fear the worst of scenarios when I eventually make it there.

If I make it there...

As I turn the corner I am caught by surprise.  The apple-faced man has managed to grab the kid with the money by the hood of his sweatshirt and dangles him in the air until I arrive.

"YERZ IZ MY HERO!" Consuela squeals as she rips her money belt away from the thief's grimy hands; planting a kiss on the apple-faced man's cheek.  "Yerz cans eets for free for yers life," she tells him as I pant my way into the conversation.  I take a moment to catch my breath before expressing my gratitude when --

I am instantly splattered with blood; as the man falls to the ground and the weasel escapes.

In the blink of an eye, I manage to understand what just happened:  this hero is being pummelled by the remaining thugs who have returned to seek vengeance for their friend.

Without thinking I dive into the mess and scream with all my might for them to stop -- which they don't.  There's something addictive about their anger as they take out every hurt and regret on two helpless bodies now lying on a sidewalk that is slowly getting drenched in our blood.

"Jesus," I manage to whisper before a kick to the stomach removes my ability to think. 

A moment later a bigger crowd has chosen to take mercy on the two of us; and manages to scare the hooligans away.

I roll onto my back trying to grasp for air.  Everyone seems to be directing their concern towards me and not the apple-faced man that lays beside me.  When they offer me a hand to stand, my agitation takes over and I snap, "Help him, he's more hurt than me!"

They do. 

In due time, emergency services arrive.  And when I finish giving my statement I am left there holding some ice to my head and giving a big 'thank you' smile to my wayward hero.

Not knowing what to do, Consuela offers him some money from her pouch -- which he politely refuses.  It takes me a moment to search for the words I think he will understand.  Eventually I just decide to speak from my heart and hope that the universe will translate.

"You're a brave soul," I say to him hoping that on some level the message in my heart of gratitude and appreciation connects with him.

"Whaddya mean, Jelly Bean?" he says back with a smile; and I realize that he has since lost a tooth from the attack.

"You know what I mean," I say to him as he continues to smile in my direction -- oblivious of the blood spurting from his mouth.

And in this moment, as we sit here waiting  to be released, I decide to help this man in any way I can.  Because that's what good neighbors do. 

Good neighbors -- the ones worth having, look out for each other.  Because, at the end of the day the reality is; we only have each other.

Keep It Simple, Stupid.

"You okay?" Donna asks as she takes a seat beside me on the ground near a defunct fountain.  I nod.  I'm glad to see her.  She seems to be the one most like me, and so I'm happy to have her join me for a while.

"Here," she says and hands me a sweater.  "You're not quite strong enough yet -- you should cover your arms." 

I slip on the sweater and give her a polite smile. 

"Are you planning on staying here -- forever?" I ask her a moment later when the question pops into my mind.

"Well," she says as she readjusts in her seat to get more comfortable.  "It's safer here, this we know.  We have the resources.  We're protected by the lake and the river -- there's only one entrance into town.  It makes sense for now," she tells me.

"Maybe they didn't think to look here," I say out of the blue a moment later.

"Huh?"

Donna looks confused.

"The army, you know, maybe they didn't think to look up here..." I say half-convincing myself as the words float into the sky and get burned by the sunlight.

"I dunno..."

Donna's trying to be positive for my sake.

But it's possible...

They could have flown over here and saw nothing? 

They could still have plans to return. 

The radiation only settled a little while ago.

"They might not come out here because they're afraid of what they'll find," Donna says a short while later.

"You mean like -- zombies?" I ask with a small laugh.

"Exactly," she says and stands to walk back towards the hospital. 

No one else has arrived since me this morning -- so I imagine she is probably going to feed those who can stomach their food on the second floor.

"Donna," I call out to her just before she's out of earshot.  When she turns around I ask the question that's been plaguing me since breakfast, "Why do you think things are kinder?" I say, not knowing if she has the right answer but wanting her point of view just the same.

"I don't know.  Maybe because we only have each other to rely on?"

And with that she gives me a short waive, then disappears.


We only have each other.

Might as well not make life more complicated than it needs to be.

"Keep it simple, stupid" I mutter to myself as I stand to walk back towards the hospital in case Donna needs my help.

Funny that a life-altering, species annihilating disaster should shake the complication out of our lives.

We do only have each other.

Donna's words are very profound.

Garden of Eden II

"Who the hell left their gun by the door, I nearly shot myself!" Howls the fat woman as she slams through the front door tavern holding my shotgun.

Part of me shrinks in my seat a little, but my hunger takes over and I begin to slurp back my oatmeal like a savage.  Another woman points her towards me, and so I feign an 'I'm sorry' smile as she waddles over.

She stands there looming over me while I pretend to be distracted with my food.  A moment later I look up, ready to receive my scolding.

"When did you get here?" she says and places the gun beside the empty seat across from me. 

"This morning," I tell her as I scrape the last of my oatmeal from my bowl. 

"You staying long?" she asks leeringly as she helps herself to a seat at my table.

"Only long enough to regain my energy," I say as I stand to take my dirty dishes over to the station for washing.

She follows me.  "Where you gonna go?" She asks.  I tell her that I want to head out West and that I think the folks out there are fine.  A few people who happen to overhear laugh a bit; but I don't care.  I'm anxious to leave this Garden of Eden, someone just needs to hand me an apple.

"Leave her alone, Jenny" says a deep voice from behind me.  I look around to see the guy who was manning the inner gate a few hours ago.

"Hi," I say to him as he ushers me back to my table while simultaneously shooing fat Jenny away to bother someone else.

"She's just bored," he says to me as we sit down.  I give him a few moments to eat, and then begin conversation.  "So, of all the pennies you've collected, what percentage of people stay?" I say to him when he nears the end of his porridge.

"All of 'em," he says and then wipes away some food on his cheek with the back of his sleeve.  I take a moment to notice that his cheeks have a pink tinge to them, and I wonder how long before the blood flows healthy in me again so that I might have that same colour.

"They all stay?" I say looking around the tavern that has less than a dozen people.

"Well, they don't all leave here -- let's just put it that way," he says cryptically and my thoughts are reminded of the helpless left for dead on the second floor.

"Oh, yeah -- right." I stammer and try to recover so that we can have a decent chat.

"You -- you're a dreamer," he says as he leans back in his chair and crosses his arms.  "I know your type, always having one head in the clouds.  My mother was very much like you," he tells me.  Before I have a chance to interject he continues, "We can use your kind.  Dreamers.  A lot of us have forgotten how to dream -- all things considered."

I take a moment before politely responding, "I used to be that girl.  I don't know that I am anymore."

"Oh no, you are -- it's part of your make-up.  You can't help it.  You know you're the only one who ever apologized for handing me over a penny?  You can't change the way you think.  It's how God made you," he says with strong affirmation.

"Do you still believe in God?" I ask.  After all that has happened, I think it would be difficult to have blind faith.

"Absolutely.  God never has a hand in anything bad -- don't forget that." He says as he stands to take his dishes to the cleaning station.  I watch as he quickly swishes water over them and then places them in the basket to dry.  He nods his head at me as he walks towards the tavern door -- probably to return to his post; "Later dreamer girl," he says before the door shuts behind him.

I sit for a moment looking around the room.  Jenny eyes me suspiciously from the other side, but then decides to pay more attention to her food.  Funny how the petri dish never looks quite the way you would imagine.  There are no pretty flowers -- no ominous snake.  Just a few lucky souls trying to start all over again -- hoping that the next round will be different.  Maybe we'll be kinder?  Happier? 

Maybe that was God's plan all along.  To have an Armageddon of sorts so that we could live up to our true potential. 

Except for that one man shooting at us; I have to admit -- everyone has been a lot nicer.  It's humbling to see society operate without its cancerous sores.

So, maybe I won't bite into that apple after all.  Gardens were meant to be a safe haven.  And people were probably always meant to enjoy it, just so long as they don't forget that it's their job to tend.

Whaddya mean, Jelly Bean?

I crack my knuckles before I slide away from my desk and venture outside.  It's a beautiful day and there is something about hearing nature's sweet serenade that invigorates my imagination.  When I get to the parkette I waive a polite hello to Consuela before continuing on my stroll.  I think she's relieved that I've chosen not to bug her today; but truth be told, there is little for me to nag her about as of late.  Her karma is quite happy with her acts of kindness, and I imagine, fairly soon she will be moving out on her own.

Near the end of the parkette, in the shade of a tree, sits the apple-faced man who collects shiny pennies.  His knapsack sits beside him as he takes in his surroundings.  Having given me a node of inspiration, I feel it's only right to engage in conversation.  I decide that I will express my condolences to him about the twins.  They were his friends. 

"How are you?" I say as I approach not wanting to startle him.  He smiles at me and so I continue, "I just wanted to say that -- I'm really sorry about your friends."

His eyebrows furrow together as perplexity takes over his face -- and so I clarify; "Your friends, the twins -- the two ladies who look alike.  They used to sit over there," I point to the tree closer to where Consuela keeps her Taco Stand.

He gives me a big smile and simply says, "Whaddya mean, Jelly Bean?"

I take a moment before awkwardly repeating what I just said.  This time when I'm done he laughs and says again, "Whaddya mean, Jelly Bean?"

When it dawns on me that I'm not getting through, I look to the ground.  A moment later I see a penny hiding in the grass -- it's not so shiny, but I point to it in case it might brighten his day.  When he ignores it, I fish around in my own pocket to find a shiny one and place it on the ground, heads up, in front of him.

"Heads up good luck," I say as I walk away.  He waives thank you and adds it to his collection in the mesh pocket on the side of his knapsack.  As I continue on my way I let the birds intermingle with the sound of traffic and wonder what it would be like if this person did have their faculties?

Although, truth be told -- given the gravity of his living conditions, I believe that the universe has bestowed upon him an act of sheer kindness.  Ignorance really is bliss.  And I'm sure that there are millions of fools in the world who wish they could delight in something simple like the shade of a tree in the heat of the afternoon -- or the child-like excitement that comes from finding a lucky penny when you least expect it.

Cue Celine Dion

"Shut the door," a soft voice says to me as I turn around.  The hand on my shoulder is an ally not a foe.  It takes me a moment before I let the door slide shut -- which silences the murmurs from within.

"There's nothing you can do for them.  Believe me, we tried," she says with sincerity as I step away from the door so that I can get a better look at her.  She's younger than me --  and her skin is much healthier than mine.

"Come," she says and ushers me back towards the stairwell.

"What will happen to them?" I ask as we climb the stairs towards the third floor. 

She doesn't say anything at first, but then -- perhaps to gain my trust, tells me the truth:

"They will die."

We walk in silence for another moment down the third floor hallway; eventually entering into a room that is run by a generator.  My ears are immediately overwhelmed with the beeps and blurs of machinery.  It deafens me at first, but then -- as it has always been, I readjust to the humming as it evaporates into white noise before taking a seat on one of the cots per my new friend's instructions.

"I'm Karen," I say as she prepares my left arm for a needle that will provide the remainder of the combatant medicines I need to restore me to health.  I take a handful of vitamins that someone else hands to me and wince ever so slightly as the needle approaches.

"I'm Donna.  This is Lorna.  And over there is Miguel." she says as the needle enters into my arm. 

I cordially nod my 'how-do-you-dos' to each of them before taking a deeper breath to help calm my nerves.  A moment later the needle is removed; and we are free to exchange pleasantries.

"We've been here for about three weeks or so -- ever since the rains let up.  We do our best to try and help whomever passes by; but the reality is that the further south you were when the disaster happened, the harder it will be for us to treat.  You are lucky," she says with a smile as she readjusts her pony tail.

"Your hair is so...healthy." I say to her and try not to think about my own thinning mop.  She reaches out her hand to my head, pats it and tells me that mine will be healthy again soon enough.  I'm told that I'm welcome to stay as long as I want.  They've been treating the water to avoid contamination; and there is more than enough food.  I ask if they know of the status of people elsewhere -- but she doesn't.  I tell her about the message emblazoned on my phone and that I am planning to travel west as I believe that things are alright over there.

"If that is the case, then why haven't they sent for us?" she asks matter-of-fact as we make our way out doors and cross the street towards what looks like a tavern.

"That's a good question," I mumble under my breath. 

Why haven't they sent the army here to help us? 

The question lingers in my mind a bit longer.  I try not to worry about worse-case scenarios.  For now, my plan is simple.  Stay here.  Rest and recharge.  And then, leave.

As we approach the tavern door, Donna turns to me with a smile and says, "Is that your shotgun leaning up against the door?"

I shrug, and then say the first thing that comes to my mind in an effort to save face.

"Too many zombie movies," I mutter.

"Ah," she says with a laugh as the door opens and the smell of food consumes every hungry cell in my being. 

As the smell of breakfast re-awakens the parts of me that I had long forgotten - like desire, and will; I know that the tide has now shifted. 

A new day has come.

It's a Girl!

"Argh," I mumble as I try to readjust my head on my keyboard hoping that the physical connection of my forehead to the keys will somehow channel my thoughts a bit better.  It's now mid-afternoon and I have no desire to sit here hypothesising the 14 million potential branches of story that I can sew.

My mind begins to drift towards thoughts of patios...and alcohol...and friends...

And so, in an effort to salvage what is left of the day, I crack my neck to the left -- then the right, then once more to the left again.  Somehow my shoulders allow for my upper torso to become more erect, which allows for my fingers to assume their position over the keyboard.

For a brief second my mind drifts to thoughts of telepathic typing; but I am snapped out of it by the yearning want to socialize and make something of this day.

I try to ignore various story lines seeping into my consciousness, and instead, take a breath and focus on the task at hand.

Somehow, here in the silence, a story is about to be born.  Mutable screams accompany the labour -- and as the doctor wipes away the mucous and hands her to me I feign a smile of sorts.

For neither one of us asked to be put together; and yet here we are entwined in one another -- an unfortunate bi product of our union and co-existence.

Somewhere in the back of my mind I think to myself that all babies are ugly in the beginning; all skirmish and gunky with scaly skin and disproportionate features.  It's only after a couple of months of feeding them (bleeding nipples and all) that they turn out to be quite adorable.  Enticing even.

And so, knowing that the suckling will only hurt for the short-term I allow my fingers to dance along the keyboard per the babies' instructions.

This infant's demands will eventually lessen over time.

And motherhood, I am told, will become more pleasurable once she gets what she needs and ceases to continually suck what's sacredly mine from my being.

Visiting hours are over

I take a step towards the entrance of the hospital, but then turn around and reach for the double barrel leaning against the passenger seat.

I look around to see if anyone is watching me -- when I know very well that there isn't.

In an effort to appease my growing fear I place the double barrel beside the hinge to the right of the double doors, just in case --

When I step into the hospital I immediately have to wait a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness.  Purple and orange blobs momentarily block my view before the blackness eats away at them and I begin to see the outline of objects in the dim light.

It's unusually quiet, but I try to negotiate a different way of thinking as I make my way down the hall.  All my senses are on high alert as I wade through the unknown hoping for a pleasant sigh of relief when I do come up for air.  At the end of the hall is a staircase, and so I make my way through the doors and venture upwards.

I try not to listen to the millions of questions running through my mind...

Why is no one here to greet me?

Why is it so silent?

Where are all the people?

I continue to tip toe up the cement stairs, grateful that my sneakers keep me silent.  I begin to rationalize that since there are no short waive radios; that perhaps the people who are here are unaware of my coming.

When I reach the second floor doors there is a paper sign with the words "3rd floor" on them and an arrow that points towards the wall.  For reasons unknown, I reach out and enter into the second floor hallway.

A moment later I hear murmuring and so I hide in the shadows.  I sit and try to make out what the murmurs could mean.  It's evident that they are coming from a room, and so I gather up my courage and walk towards what sounds like faint moans.  There's more light seeping through this hallway, so it's easier to make out door frames.  A moment or so later I am in front of a closed door that seems to be housing the sounds.  They're still faint from where I'm standing, and part of me thinks it's a miracle to have even heard them from where I was.  I take a deep breath, reach out my hand, and slowly twist the door handle to the left with stealth silence.

Through the crack I can see nothing except pure darkness.  I open the door a bit more, and see bodies lying on various beds.  Some of them moving -- some of them not.

"Help me," one of them says from the back of the room. 

My mind races as I try to rationalize what I'm seeing, but before I can make a decision -- it is made for me.  For as I exhale and am about to take another breath that would somehow garner my thoughts one way or the other, a hand is gently placed on my right shoulder.

And so, I freeze.