way if there was anything good over there.
“What about that way?” he asked. He nodded towards where I had just come from. “What was over in that direction? Anything?”
“No food,” I told him. I didn’t really want to go into details about what was in that direction. He seemed harmless enough to talk to but that might have been because I had the axe in my hands (and he was unarmed as far as I could tell).
“But what about shelter?”
My mind flashed through the three options I had for a response. My first thought was to take the axe and split him down the middle of his body. The second thought was to lie and tell him there was nothing that way either. The final thought - the one I knew I should listen to least out of the other given options - was the loudest one: tell him about the house . I knew Father wouldn’t be impressed given his fear of looters and keeping our family safe in these dark times but (telling the man) it was the right thing to do. The human thing.
“There’s a house...” I told him.
The human side won.
Meet the Family
Walking back through the woods with the man by my side felt both strange and comforting at the same time. On the one hand I didn’t know him and he could have been anyone. On the other hand it was nice to have a bit of company.
“So it’s your house?” he asked. “Your father’s, I mean?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t want to tell him that we took it from someone who was either dead or had run away. I couldn’t help but think it would have potentially painted us in a bad light. More to the point, I didn’t want him thinking it would then be acceptable to take it from us. After all, if we had done the same to someone else then surely it would be okay for someone to come along and take it away from us again.
“So you can tell me where we are then?”
“What do you mean?”
I looked at the man and could tell by his face that he had no idea where he was. The whole place was alien to him.
“I just woke up here in the woods. I have no idea where I am or even how I got here.”
If I hadn’t lied about owning the house then I could have put his mind at ease and told him that my family and I were the same. We woke up in the house, moved there by Father who woke up in a car in the middle of the woods.
“I believe it’s something to do with the blast. The things , the memory loss - I believe it’s all connected. My family and I have gaps in our memory too,” I told him, skirting around the question of where we were.
He actually looked relieved to hear he wasn’t the only one with memory loss.
“I don’t even know about any fucking blasts!” he said. “What the fuck happened?”
We still had a way to walk so I figured now would be as good a time as any to fill him in with what had happened (according to my father at least). “I’m not sure of all the details,” I started, “my father told me about this so I can’t answer any further questions you may have but apparently political arguments escalated. One thing led to another. It started with rockets, then invasions and then - eventually - someone just dropped a bomb and ended it all...”
“A nuke?”
“I guess.”
“I thought there’d be a dust cloud, or something. Ruin for miles and miles but look!” he pointed skywards. Past the trees (overhead) and out into the blue sky, the sun was still shining brightly despite making efforts to go down for the night. “I thought things like this were supposed to vanish behind layers of radioactive smog?”
I shrugged. I didn’t know what was supposed to happen. All I knew was that it had happened and this is how we lived our life now. We were starving and it was us and them .
The man stopped asking questions. He looked pale. I’m not sure whether he had run out of questions or because he didn’t want to hear any more of the answers I had
“What about that way?” he asked. He nodded towards where I had just come from. “What was over in that direction? Anything?”
“No food,” I told him. I didn’t really want to go into details about what was in that direction. He seemed harmless enough to talk to but that might have been because I had the axe in my hands (and he was unarmed as far as I could tell).
“But what about shelter?”
My mind flashed through the three options I had for a response. My first thought was to take the axe and split him down the middle of his body. The second thought was to lie and tell him there was nothing that way either. The final thought - the one I knew I should listen to least out of the other given options - was the loudest one: tell him about the house . I knew Father wouldn’t be impressed given his fear of looters and keeping our family safe in these dark times but (telling the man) it was the right thing to do. The human thing.
“There’s a house...” I told him.
The human side won.
Meet the Family
Walking back through the woods with the man by my side felt both strange and comforting at the same time. On the one hand I didn’t know him and he could have been anyone. On the other hand it was nice to have a bit of company.
“So it’s your house?” he asked. “Your father’s, I mean?”
“Yes.”
I didn’t want to tell him that we took it from someone who was either dead or had run away. I couldn’t help but think it would have potentially painted us in a bad light. More to the point, I didn’t want him thinking it would then be acceptable to take it from us. After all, if we had done the same to someone else then surely it would be okay for someone to come along and take it away from us again.
“So you can tell me where we are then?”
“What do you mean?”
I looked at the man and could tell by his face that he had no idea where he was. The whole place was alien to him.
“I just woke up here in the woods. I have no idea where I am or even how I got here.”
If I hadn’t lied about owning the house then I could have put his mind at ease and told him that my family and I were the same. We woke up in the house, moved there by Father who woke up in a car in the middle of the woods.
“I believe it’s something to do with the blast. The things , the memory loss - I believe it’s all connected. My family and I have gaps in our memory too,” I told him, skirting around the question of where we were.
He actually looked relieved to hear he wasn’t the only one with memory loss.
“I don’t even know about any fucking blasts!” he said. “What the fuck happened?”
We still had a way to walk so I figured now would be as good a time as any to fill him in with what had happened (according to my father at least). “I’m not sure of all the details,” I started, “my father told me about this so I can’t answer any further questions you may have but apparently political arguments escalated. One thing led to another. It started with rockets, then invasions and then - eventually - someone just dropped a bomb and ended it all...”
“A nuke?”
“I guess.”
“I thought there’d be a dust cloud, or something. Ruin for miles and miles but look!” he pointed skywards. Past the trees (overhead) and out into the blue sky, the sun was still shining brightly despite making efforts to go down for the night. “I thought things like this were supposed to vanish behind layers of radioactive smog?”
I shrugged. I didn’t know what was supposed to happen. All I knew was that it had happened and this is how we lived our life now. We were starving and it was us and them .
The man stopped asking questions. He looked pale. I’m not sure whether he had run out of questions or because he didn’t want to hear any more of the answers I had
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