Creative Writing

1.

I NEVER WOULD’VE THOUGHT I’D MAKE IT THIS FAR.

I’m not a ‘survivor’ or at least anything being a ‘survivor’ implies. I remember watching tv specials about people who survived major attacks or accidents, mostly by their sheer power of will. They could have just closed their eyes and drifted peacefully away from our mortal plane, but they pushed themself that extra inch or yard or mile. I of course admired these people, and I still do. But when I watched those specials, I knew that I wouldn’t have chosen the same. It’s not that I doubt my physical ability to survive, though now that I mention it, I guess I do. It’s more that I don’t feel I have much of a will at all. Or at least the passion or drive it takes to keep on living. If I had felt like closing my eyes and falling asleep forever, I simply would’ve. It’s just good fortune that I haven’t.  There would be no dragging my paralyzed body across a field or running limbless along a highway until I found salvation. I know for a fact that I would make my bed in grass, on asphalt, both cradled and stifled by oppressive water, or in my bed, at home. I’d accept my fate as a merciful escape.

Yes, I have tried to kill myself. Sort of. Taking a whole bottle of Ibuprofen counts I guess, but my heart wasn’t in it. I was upset in the moment and not yet medicated for my various personality disorders. I don’t blame her; the me I was then. I carry her with me, usually in the form of guilt. Now, survival seems to be everyone’s priority, because it’s all we have left. Even the previously suicidal will fight when it’s clear what’s to fight for. Continuing to exist has marked me as exceptional, in a way. You see, there are just so many who didn’t make it. So many who in their lifetimes never tried to harm themselves; who only ever wanted to live and keep going. So now I carry them too, on my back next to the girl curled up on the bathroom floor with an empty pill bottle in her hand, carrying them to whatever wherever will bring. 

We’re on a trip now. Though if there’s no home, everything is a trip. We’re in a caravan, riding horses to McBree. Our destination is a commune someone heard about through the grapevine. I don’t know who the someone is or what grapevine they’ve been attuned to, but that’s all we have. We, a crew of people who never asked to survive. Who didn’t envision themselves the last living. I crawled out from under rubble, wood, and shingles. I climbed over the stiff bodies of my parents. I tried to call for help but couldn’t. I might’ve shot myself but we didn’t keep guns in the house. So I scavenged some essentials and I started walking.

When I was trying to get into shape, just walking around the neighborhood was daunting. Not that it was incredibly challenging, but it was an activity that was always available to me, so it felt unreachable. I always had a sense of pride when I walked a mile, even on the same streets I’d known since 1998. Leaving the house then was an event. When I look back, it was an event til the end. Leaving my home for the last time was major, and it would’ve been heartbreaking if I had known it’d be the last time. I wish I’d take another glance, but if I did, I don’t know if I would have left. And that’s why I’m alive now; I’m beginning to accept ‘alive’ as a sign of success. Anyway, I would’ve weighed my options and checked my podcasts before I ventured out, but that day I just had to step. 

When I realized there was no way to reach anyone, I began walking down my road, looking for others living. The sidewalk was covered with debris, so I walked in the road. It felt unnatural and dystopian, which I knowingly amplified by walking right down the middle. I listened for sounds, I dug amongst rubble, but something told me I was totally alone. At least now I hope I was. I can’t think of who might have been stuck, hearing my voice as salvation but it never coming close. I would’ve chosen them over me. Anyone over me. Not even as a noble sacrifice, but a selfish diversion. Why should I be tasked with survival when death seemed far preferable?

I was able to push all my loss into the back of my head; telling myself that I’d join my loved ones shortly, after I took a peek around. That peek led to scouring and scavenging, which became my new career. I never really had one to begin with I guess. As you know I was living with my parents when all of this happened. I’d worked at several places but never got anything off the ground. So I guess I’ve found some utility here, as a part of this society. They make up rules as we go along, and give out roles. I was a decent leader back in school, but I don’t have the energy to take that on now. Or at least that’s what I tell myself in order to allow others to lead me. 

Although I don’t fear death, I still fear pain. So I tend to avoid militarized zones and anything dangerous like that. While our bravest coordinate attacks and perform sweeps, my team creeps in behind them, inspecting and stowing various garbage. We’ve learned to appraise things, which is only useful when the current state of things is taken account of. Things valued in the old world are often left behind, in favor of practical resources previously taken for granted. This analysis occupies my mind; all my thoughts are parallel to the subject of survival. But I like knowing the status of our tribe: what we need, our issues, our goals, all of which is laid out before us by an oligarchy.

I know, since when has an oligarchy worked? For us, we’re just looking toward the next few days. There’s no use establishing systems, infrastructure, and a government when the whole community could be wiped out in any instant. So if people think they know what’s best, their only challenge is to earn our daily trust, and their duty is to serve our best interests. I know it sounds muddy, the way people are. But so far, no one has cared enough to fight. If you’re fighting against the very world around you, you find time to reconcile with the real people in front of you. Or at least that’s what I’ve found.

2.

By the time her alarm went off her room looked no different than it had when she had crawled into bed the night before. It was dark and silent, but for the hum of the oscillating fan in the corner. She sat up and saw her cat still curled in a ball on her desk chair. On the weekends she’d awake to a delicate paw placed on her face, and a polite yet insistent feline staring back at her. But not at this hour.

With bleary eyes she shuffled out of bed and into the dark kitchen. As she passed the table, she closed the curtains over the large portrait window to shield her from the cruel blackness that lay beyond. Most of her friends skipped breakfast for an extra five minutes of sleep, but though tempted, Louise never gave in. Rationality told her that an extra five minutes to wake up was what she needed.

Before this year her mother would wake her up. Without complaint she’d set her alarm and gently creep into Louise’s room at six am. Usually the soft weight of her mom sitting on the foot of her bed was enough to rouse her. But she was an adult now, or so she convinced herself. Although she regretted it every morning, she had told her mom to get some sleep instead. She’d have to get used to an alarm next year in college, she told her. And yet her primary motivation was the knowledge that none of her friends had been afforded that luxury.

Hers wasn’t a story of neglectful parents or a hostile home. She reflected on her childhood with fondness, and never blamed her parents for any of her traumas. She supposed that some people were just born with issues, written on their brains like UPC codes; and she was one of them. Her particular code dictated a distrust of all people, but mostly men, and a heightened awareness of others. She couldn’t stand being looked at, and insisted on driving to school even though it was only a ten minute walk away. The idea of crossing a street in front of cars that likely belong to her classmates repulsed her. That’s also why she closed the curtains in the morning: so no one could observe her without her knowledge. 

Driving was quicker, but that wasn’t the point. Even driving she left her house about twenty minutes earlier than was necessary. She was still uncomfortable behind the wheel, so she arrived early to claim a spot in the parking lot that wasn’t hard to get in or out of. Then she’d sit in her car until the lot filled up, scrolling on her phone or eating her breakfast.

Sometimes a friend would arrive and join her in the passenger’s seat. She wasn’t hard to spot after all, in a large green minivan with an old roof rack. Her friends used to tease her neurotic habits, but at this point everyone was resigned to the routine.

As if the darkness wasn’t uninviting enough, it was a cold morning. She could warm up her car, but disliked the idea of going outside in her pajamas, into what seemed like night. So when it was time to leave she bundled up in a puffy coat, tossed her bag into the back seat, and drove to school in a miserly hunch. 

There was no difficulty pulling into her usual spot, as only a couple other cars were already there. It was desolate, but she knew that within ten minutes half the lot would be full and teeming with teenagers. While she waited, she began methodically checking her notifications on various platforms. Before long she jumped at the sound of tapping on the passenger’s side window. 

Catherine was standing there, hood over head, hands in pockets, and eyes squinting in the sudden brightness of morning. Louise unlocked the door and Catherine swiftly slid into the seat, tossing her bag into the back. They sat in silence for a moment or two.

    “Ugghhh”, Catherine groaned, unable to produce any words at this hour.

Louise simply nodded defeatedly. Every morning was like this: sad, hopeless, weary, hell. Catherine adjusted her posture and sipped from her travel mug, mustering up the resolve required to enter the school in a few minutes. Louise smelled the coffee in the air, which helped her too.

    “I’ll never understand you”, Catherine said as she looked out through the windshield at cars passing.

    “Coffee makes me anxious”, Louise replied.