literature

The Stranger I Met

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When the echoing blast had ended, I had found myself curled in on my own body. Hands protectively raised over my head, forearms delicately brushing my ears. Toes curled so tightly their knuckles were white through the dirt caked on soles. 

In all honesty, it had only been one, short blast, but it rocked my whole being, while screaming it's name throughout miles of flora. It's shrieks had pierced my skin and lodged deep into my gut, a feeling so hollow I instinctually crimped into a small ball of my own vulnerable fears. But... with the fading reverberation, I figured all was safe. 

I stood, a mere... I forgot what mother told me. It was short, apparently. Either way, I ran a hand through my tangled, filth crumbled hair and sighed, rubbing at my face with a numbness I had learned to accept. I grabbed the satchels next to my less quivered body and promptly set out of the old room I was currently using. That noise... it was better to investigate and leave, lest some strange thing came by again, like what happened last time with mother. 

Mother... 

Walking still hurt a bit from the fall, but I figured that it was all right to continue onward. There wasn't much to do, about it anyway. Padding across the floor, I pushed open the door that led into the depressing, decrepit hallway. It stretched, wallpaper curling in ribbons off the walls and faded to a disgusting color, dredged with years of dust and soot. Populous, brown stains streaked the carpeting; atrociously rancid mold sprouting from the shaded areas along the crevices between wall and floor. What was once white, had now been brown, gray, for years. The cracks that spidered throughout the ceiling panels bothered me none as I took my leave. Certain floorboards crepitated when stepped upon, gesturing subtly to a different era. 

Stepping into the lobby of this sad hotel, I looked up to the ceiling once more. The once glimmering chandelier that held it's gut was rusted, and close to a crushing breath of failure. It's semi precious fakes that lay scattered, shattered upon the floor, led to careful treading with a small push broom before my step. It's neck worried me, with the fingers of various plants stretching so carefully, so beautifully, tortuously intertwined around the chandeliers own curlicues. The green among the faded, chipped gold paint was very pleasing to my young eyes, but beauty was found everywhere else in this large, open world. 

Comically, as I had done when mother was still with me, I placed the key of the room I had been staying in on the front desk. Manners were always a first, after all. A brief, tongueless thank you to the empty winds left me walking out the door, push broom now slung over my pack along with the rest of my belongings. 

Food. Water bottles that had been strewn, now cleaned and filled. Extra clothes. A very special roll of gauze. A Swiss Army Knife. A small, teeny pistol, that now accompanied my push broom, and... the last bottle of my mother's perfume. I once found a joke book with mother, and we read from it all the time. They made us giggle silly until we just could find them to be funny anymore. Those silly words imprinted in my mind forever, a loving, lost memory that was burrowed in the darkness. 

Mother made me use the book for fire kindling. It had made me sad, at the time. I cried until my eyes were red, the skin a raw pink from me wiping at puffy skin. The snot that had dribbled down my throat and choked my sobs. It was made clear that crying was unwise in this situation. Water wasn't something you should jut let freely run. That was a year ago... I've learned many things since then. 

I brushed my finger pads along the crinkled wood frame of the doorway and left with a small hop off the one stair step that led into the building, and landed with a soft thump on the dirt covered cement. Thus, I started my walking. 

When you're by yourself in this world... you start to take things into account. Much like the home I was told about but never knew. The mother I had loved and lost. The other survivors that would patter down the streets, trying to make a happy situation as much as they could out of this "hell". But really, what "hell" could that be? It was simply as though the Earth was tired with others greed, and decided to take some for herself. There's not much wrong with that, when I think. 

Mother used to be scared when I thought. 

The houses look better now than when they did in pictures. Walking down a street of them, fresh... can air be plump? The abundance of the clean cut air sliced my nose anew, even though it was not cold outside, as which one would normally find themselves in this situation. Grass tickled my legs as I side stepped around potholes, gaps, broken and disturbed objects. Paint and decor of house veneer was fractured, some plants shooting forth into the sunlight and desperately climbed the hollowed skeleton of the house to reach the skies. Their tendrils wallowed in roof shingles, and window panes groaned from the weight of it all. Shattered glass littered lawns, some possessions left to the treatment of the elements on porches. Few street lights remained intact, their bulbs missing, or destroyed. 

The breeze that pushed past my face whispered soft musings to me as I ambled down this old road. The street name had long been torn apart, along with many others. Insects whizzed past me on their own journeys, where as I was just a diminutive blockage in their paths. Some decided to stay, perching on my shoulders and arms, flies flitting around my face and hair. It didn't bother me much as I continued throughout the road, weaving from time to time through clutter, until I reached where I wished to be. But even then, that's not where I wish to be, because I have none. 

There isn't much of a place left for us anymore, really. 

***

Once flaming highway lines simply draw out the road which I plan to walk, spending my time with my hands rested surely on my back. I had spent all the time that I could in that section of the city, but food was short anywhere you went these days, and of course I didn't wish to eat it all. Mother had taught me you must always leave some behind, so more could grow in its place. That way, the course back wasn't as starved. Mother seemed to be very smart. 

I passed another sign that told the miles left to this city or the next. I only wanted a few minutes walk, I hadn't even had breakfast yet, due to my lack of matches. Fire required light, and that old hotel was just about as shady as one could get. Letting my stomach rumble for a bit, I decided that it would be best to set up the next camp before unpacking anything from my satchel. Each step I took was a second, my brain pulsing with its count. One two three four five six seven eight nine ten. When the numbers tricked me, I stopped all together to rethink, and to retrace my steps. It was a game Mother had shown me, so that I knew where I was. 

A bit of a ways later, I was at the next highway exit, and I took the steep path that headed down hill, into the neighboring town. Names meant nothing to me, now. Mother had not called me by my name the last we were together, so I figured they weren't all that important anymore. With that, I ignored the signs along the road, planted in the thick of tall grass, that told me half rusted over names of towns, restaurants, gas stations. Although... the name of one had caught my eye. 

Mother once took me to a diner by that name. Not before, but after, of course. There was no one there, and we sat and ordered our food. It never came... Mother ended up taking out the portable stove we had had with us and lighting it, roasting nuts found on the floor. It was fun. 

Shaking my head out of another memory, and scratching my ear, I wiped the wet, yellowed residue on what was left of my pants before heading into the town. 

It was just like the last one. Old houses that littered streets uselessly, and all sorts of destroyed, abandoned chattel everywhere. It was the same anywhere I went. 

I quickly walked over to a tree near the freeway and dug my knife into it's trunk, cracking off its protective layer as I carved out a small symbol beneath a knot in the tree. Mother used to do this. I do it because everything looks the same. I'll know if I've been here before. A quick scan of the area shows I haven't... 

Continuing deeper, I find a lot of somewhat fresh paint littered on buildings. Spray paint, I think Mother called it. She told me to stay away from those areas, but she never said why. I walked around the buildings anyway, taking a longer, but likable trail through a park. Truly, something that caught my eye every time I moved, whether it be a few minutes walk, or a few days, the different flowers that scattered the areas amazed me. Mother once had a book for flowers as well, and I memorized them before that too, became fuel for our never ending fire. 

Forget-Me-Nots. So elegantly tender and soft, hundreds of buds sprouting and flourished. Enamored so with one another, they snarled and knotted tightly, gentle kisses bestowed while winds brushed them together. It was comfy enough for me to lightly lower myself into the bed, not caring that the flowers beneath were probably crushed. It was nice. 

The blue buds swam in my vision, dancing in the breeze that pushed long hair into my face. I had long lost the last of the hair ties mother used, and I was always a bit hesitant to take the knife to my scalp like Mother had once done. Gazing into the blue sky above me, I watched the clouds roll by lazily. It was warm, and I shrugged off my small jacket to make a shape-shift pillow for my resting head. Blades of grass brushed my face soothingly, scared. Trails of nonexistent water droplets rolled down my cheek to my spine and made me shudder, urging my hands to scratch at my face. My nails were long, and the lengths of each were different from one another. I'd have to bite them off soon, after I went scavenging. I soon found myself preoccupied with the sky again, it's humored shade of blue staring me down quite literally. The haze of its illusion left me tired all the sudden, and soon, soft breaths gracefully tumbled out of my parted lips. Small flutters twitched from my eyelids, talking faintly in response to the wisps of air that kissed and pecked at my face. 

***

The sky was tired once again, and started to dull as I ate from my pack. It's bright azure was now dimming, leaving to talk to someone else for the day. That was fine, I needed to find myself a new storage. When I felt the acidic bite leave my stomach, I was inclined to leave my bed of perfumed friends. Perhaps, on another day, I would revisit them. I stored away what I could, picked up the push broom again, and got up, walking away from my spot. I had left a nut planted in the ground. 

The clouds were more gathered at this time of day, hinting at what should be coming soon. It had been a lovely day, happily. Picking up the pace led me to an old, broken windowed restaurant, where I hid under the awning and stashed my belongings. I had forgotten my jacket in the field. I hurriedly ran back and grabbed it, thrusting my arms through it just as a wave of aura washed over my senses. I ran back to the awning and took my things, looking around a bit faster. The water that plopped onto my cheek only rushed me faster. I ended up at the end of the street, fatter drops coming down as I pushed my way into another hotel, politely looking at the main desk and observing the features and decorum. Alluring. 

There was another set of keys behind this desk, but none for a room. It was an upsetting failure, and I watched with dejection as grand drops now spilled forth onto the roads. I would have to wait here, it was ill advised by Mother to go tromping through the streets in this weather. I scratched again at my ear, more yellow residue oozing onto my fingers. It smelled funky and I wiped it on my pants. I grabbed the end of my shirt and held it to my ear for a second or two, hoping that the fluid would drain. It was quite sticky, and gross. I searched behind the front desk, with apologizes, for a red cross. Mother told me those were important. I found a case with one, it said "MEDICAL KIT" on the front. It made no sense to me whatsoever, but Mother thought it was important, so I took the case. Opening it, I found little to no bandages, and something called "NEOSPORIN". I took what I could and left the rest. Oh... 

Underneath the case had been a key. 

I took it and inspected it for numbers, letters, coding. Mother taught me how to read these. I quickly figured it out and left a thank you to the desk and I went to grab my belongings, before finding the stairway. I started the climb with my pack in tow, making sure to keep away from rocks and the such, and holes in the ceiling and walls where rain spilled forth, wetting the floor. I trudged silently up the stair well, picking up anything that could prove useful, but not much was found. There was a pen, all dried out. A broken lantern. A candle! I had a candle, but no matches. I stowed it anyway. 

Finally, exiting, I found myself in another hallway. Not quite so depressed as the first, but still pretty dull. The wallpaper had been pretty destroyed, wear and tear on its meager body spared it no mercy. Ripped carpet floors tripped me twice, the echo of my fall leaving wood laughing at my ineptitude. Scowling, I pushed forward to turn a dark corner boldly. I checked the room plaques, red cheeks pushing me to be quicker about it. When I finally found my room, I pushed the key into the nearly broken slot, and pushed the door open. 

***

Mother had told me, once, that people were vicious creatures. Humans. Men, woman, even children. They were not to be trusted. they were filled with a greed that filled them so deeply, they aspired to be what they thirsted for. And what did it ever bring them? Money? More untrustworthy people? Mother said she had never really known Father.

We sat together at a fire, one cold winter night. I rested against her leg as her shawl kept us warm. "Mother?"

"Yes?"

"What... do you think of nuts?"

"Hmm? What do you mean?"

"They have shells."

"Of course they do, sweetie." She sighed, and threw another small stick onto the fire. I watched the paper that had one of my favorite jokes written on it disintegrate with pained eyes. The red monster that slowly consumed my favorite and blew its smoke to the sky, smoking the very life of my paper completely, absorbing its love and care into its heartless belly. I gripped my mother's pant leg. 

"Why do they hide from everyone? They aren't so bad."

"They aren't. But they like to be difficult."

"How so?"

"It's just what they do. Always have, always will."

"Is that what you're going to do, Mother?" 

She refused to answer me. I could tell I had upset her with my thinking again. 

"Do you do it to protect yourself like the nuts?"

"Go to sleep, honey." And I had. I had trusted those words and obediently followed her commands. 

Why, then...?

***

This room was... nice? Was that the word I should use? Mother would call things "cute", when it was just a silly piece of furniture. So maybe I should say it was a cute room instead. Definitely well kept. There were no cracks in the walls, no plants seeping their way in and out, nothing of the sort. There was no dust... 

I knocked on the door, and got a heavy thud in response. It jerked me, coming quite unexpectedly. When looking, I realized that one of the hinges to the door had quite imploringly pulled itself free of the old wood in a matter of defiance. Stupid door. I mumbled a soft apology with no sound. I quietly stepped into the room, pushing the door back into the frame with some grunt work. Looking around, I noticed the thick odor that was seeped into everything around the room. It was chokingly sluggish, and it forced a few deep breaths into my lungs. Looking around the room, it was obvious someone already lived here... perhaps this wasn't a hotel like I had thought? Apparently not. I was about to turn tail and leave when I nearly collapsed on the door. I couldn't pull it back out. It was wedged too deeply from my shoving and was not planning on moving for some time. I sighed and quickly sought out a window because goodness this was an awful smell. Walking into the living room of this small house type, I found what I was looking for and opened it, blocking it's close with a small piece of wood so the room could ventilate. Turning shocked me slightly. 

I hadn't noticed the older man sitting in the chair behind me. His eyes were closed, and a small smile was on his lips. He was probably sleeping. I decided leaving him be would be good, as long as I could find my way out. It was no such luck however, as every window in the house, now opened, was too small or blocked in a way that I could not leave. The kitchen, fairly small, left nothing helpful other than the plentiful stock of food. Fruits in baskets and small canned foods (a luxury to me), vegetables carefully packaged and condiments even! Mother had only told me about a few of these things, and I was eager to try them, until I remembered this wasn't my house. I took an apple and bit down into it's red flesh, looking through the small hallways of the house and the picture frames that lined the walls. I recognized the old man in one, two. There were other people, all smiling and having a good time in other photos. A few steps away was a bathroom, with a small tub and a toilet. The sink looked beyond repair. Closet was next, full of winter clothes and blankets. A boiler sat, quiet in the back. The room smelled funny, so I closed the door and went into a different door, where a simple, made bed lay, as well as a nightstand and lamp. It was extremely coated in dust compared to the other rooms. I closed the door and walked into the other bedroom, where covers to the bed lay thrown back and pillows unkept. There were many open clothing drawers, and a large, smooth faced mirror in the corner. I shuffled over to the mirror, a bit excited. I had never seen a full length one that hadn't been broken. I stood in front of the large glass and took a look at myself.

...

I looked filthy. A little, lost rag-a-muffin. Turning my head, I saw my ears, and the horrific, oozing state my right one was in. I paid it no attention as I turned around, not liking the mirror and it's truthful images. Walking back to the main room, I had finished my exploring. Im sure the old man would mind if I stayed for a bit longer, and borrowed his bed, since he wasn't using it at the moment anyway. 

***

Long naps were quite nice. Especially when they stretched over the long, dark nights. But, with no such luck, I found myself in a pitch black room with absolutely nothing to look at. It was the heap of night, and I hadn't eaten much for dinner, leaving my stomach painfully clawing at me again. Letting my eyes adjust, I sighed an took a look around the room once more. I couldn't see much, but the dim figures of furniture were left clear enough for me to avoid them. 

I had left my things near the old man, so that he may see I didn't mean too much harm if he awoke. I scampered out of bed as quietly as I could, but ended with a big thunk to the floor anyway, I walked out of the room and into the parlor, where he was still sitting on his chair. The moon was peeking in through the window. 

"Hello?" Oh, that did feel quite weird. I hadn't talked in ages... I had no reason to. "Sir? Is it all right that I am here?" I was given no answer. Perhaps he wanted to be left alone for a bit more. I took the candle out of my pack, after much fumbling in the darkness, and went back to the old man's room, hopping back on the bed and putting the candle on the nightstand. I would have to remember the matches tomorrow. For now, I silently brooded and pondered on what this man thought of me, trespassing into his home and making a mess of his bed... 

***

I soon learned his name was Mr. Lou. When the early morning light showed its rays to me, I woke and did a quick search for my candle, finding a name tag instead. When I got up, I approached him again. 

"Mr. Lou?" the vibe in the room was different today. More... friendly. "My name is.... hello?" He still didn't answer. But rather, sadly, looked out the window with his milky eyes. "Sir...?"

It was a bit depressing, actually. It made me even more determined to get a reaction out of this man. I went to my food stock and took a quick count, before heading to his kitchen and ransacking. I took fruits and chopped them with my knife, and was happily surprised to find clean plates in the cupboard. I ate some of the slices as I walked back, and set the plate right on his lap. 

"There. You should eat." No response. I turned tail and went back to the bedroom, taking my things with me. It was rather rude, but I went through the drawers, even though Mother told me to never do that. I found clothing, mostly, but some pictures as well. A lot of cards with bumps written on them, and a cane by the door, as well as one knocked over by his chair. Through some heavy searching, I found that he must have been blind, and didn't notice I was there. The small, plastic things I found in the nightstand drawer labeled "HEARING AIDS" helped me understand he was also deaf. Go figure! 

That's awfully sad, though... he has no one to help him out. I ignored the voice of Mother in the back of my head, telling me no, and went into the other room anyway. 

The food on the plate was gone. So he had noticed! That was a start. I went over to him and took his gloved hand in mine, giving it a nice little shake.

"I know you can't hear me, but I'm going to help you out, ok?" 

***

Mr. Lou had some interesting stories in that head of his. While he couldn't see or hear, he had the most impeccable memory. Born with neither trait, photo albums showed me his amazing expeditions around the world. With the crystal clear memory, his head told stories of places that most folks didn't see nowadays, unless they lived there. He was always tired, so tired. His mouth even hung a bit slack when he wasn't talking. He never had the energy to turn the pages, and he couldn't see them either, but I would describe to him what I would see, and he would tell me stories. 

They were fascinating. He'd been all over; parts of the Americas, parts of Asia, but most of Europe. One of my favorite pictures is from one of the viking countries. I cant remember the names too well. He was too nostalgic to go back and retell them, but I was ok with it. He let me sit on his lap while he told me of far away places. It made me want to venture out and explore, but I wasn't strong enough to push the door quite yet. My leg still needed to heal, and my ear felt funny. Hot. I ended up falling asleep in the middle of his story about his trip to Peru, but I don't think the old coot noticed. 

***

This had been a horrible idea. 

Absolutely... horrible. 

There had been a small earthquake the night before, and not knowing what had happened, I fell back asleep without a care to the world because I was ultimately safe for the time being. Waking up to a bright sun had welcomed me to a large hole in the floor of the hotel room I was staying at, and my pack missing. Looking down, I could see it hanging off of a wooden ledge, dangling above the rest of the pit. It sat still in the morning light, streaks of beams hitting across the navy fabric like a halo. 

I needed that pack. It was all I had left. 

I took notice of the slanting floorboards, eagerly sliding me towards what would certainly be death if I were to engage them. I took off my shoes and set them aside, so that I would not slip on the slanted floor, and edged my way around the room, making a neat jump to the level below. Although, the jump I had made sent the wood creaking and moaning, pained under my forced weight. I looked up to see my satchel just out of reach, and I looked for a broken piece of wood to help me knock it down. I found a sort of plastic rod, used to turn curtain blinds, but it wasn't quite long enough to reach the strap my precious satchel was hanging from. I edged carefully to the edge and stabbed the rod into the air, nudging my pack. It swayed, and gracefully dropped to the floor below, and not all the way like I had thought it would have. Cheering in my success, I tripped over my own feet, and fell not so happily to the bottom floor, there I landed with a sick thwack, and passed out. 

Three days later, a sprained wrist and nearly broken foot, and my ear half ripped off, I had clotted and dried blood that barred the side of my face. I painfully dragged myself across the floor to the lonely bed in the corner, pushing my belongings along with me, and somehow managed to pull myself onto the mangled mattress and fell asleep. 

***

I managed to budge the door a bit by pushing on it, but the strain on my body was a bit too much for the thick door, and I let it go. I went back to Mr. Lou and crawled on his lap, waiting to hear more stories from him, but he was silent today. I ended up taking a nap on his shoulder, then going to explore the house some more. I was absolutely thrilled to find a box of crayons underneath the bathroom sink, as well as disinfectant. I grabbed both, along with a towel, and I went to go grab some paper from the parlor room desk. I spent a few hours coloring pictures while wincing and pressing a soaked towel to my ear. I was leaning on my hand, my elbow keeping the paper in place, while I sat at the desk and drew. 

Me and mother. Me in the hotel. The plants. Mr. Lou's chair. That's all I really need, right? They were pretty mediocre drawings, for someone as young as I am. I spent a lot of time on them, but they aren't very good at all. All well. Crayons aren't that nice to use anyway. These crumbled in my hands as I stroked them across the paper. There were quite a few colors, too. I was happy with the way they presented themselves on the paper. They were old crayons, I could tell, but they worked really nice. The black one stained my fingers a bit somehow, and when I turned the faucet on in the kitchen, I was surprised to see water flow out. It was a bit filthy, but I washed off the black stain and wasn't really surprised when the sink made a weird noise before refusing anymore water to me. 

I had to leave soon, to replenish my own water supply. Mr. Lou didn't seem to have any left... unless it was hidden. Taking a small round throughout the house again, I noticed a string in the hallway that led to an attic doorway, I wasn't quite tall enough to reach it, though. I dragged one of the chairs from the kitchen table across the floor, then climbing on and got on my tiptoes, reaching the string. With a tug, I pulled it down, and ducked as a ladder came sliding out. With one look at Mr. Lou, who didn't seem to care, I went upstairs. 

Well... this was surprising. 

There were windows instead of a roof, and the sun beat down quite viciously in here, even though it was still rainy outside. The rain knocked kindly on the window panes, feeding into a pipe system that sprinkled water over a dozen planter boxes or so. There were fruits and vegetables, as well as water tubs to catch and reuse the water, a small jug in the corner catching rain directly. I scampered to grab my own water bottles and fill them so that we could save more water for later. I checked on the ripe vegetables and took a carrot or two, washing them off. I munched on one and went back downstairs. 

"You're very smart, Mr. Lou. I didn't think of doing something like that. It's pretty cool." I finished off the carrot and smacked the other one on the side of the desk, breaking it in half. I caught the piece that went flying and gave him the smaller end. 

"You can chew that, right? Mr. Lou?" I placed it in his hand and turned, going to harvest some of the other foods before they went bad. 

***

I had only been here a day, and yet, it smelled very... rancid. I couldn't open the windows anymore because the rain had picked up, and I doubt Mr. Lou would tolerate with me anymore if I stayed. Mr. Lou hadn't moved from the chair at all, and I believe he was a bit embarrassed. I spent some time in the greenhouse to leave him be. 

When I came back, however... nothing had changed. 

His eyes seemed to be sad. They were flat, and hollow...I think he missed something. But whenever I asked him about it, he refused to give me a response. He stared out that window for hours, never once looking away. Was he waiting for someone...? 

The smell of blood had made it's appearance as well, swirling along with the other odors that lined the house.

When putting the vegetables into the refrigerator, I noticed small patches of green mold cementing the fridge to the floor. It was hiding from the light in the cabinets as well, tucked away in the corners. It was disturbing to probe, so I left it and moved any suitable foods to the counter space with a bit of difficulty. I had to jump once to make sure a can of peaches made its way safely to the countertop. It was enough to last me a few weeks, I think. Lots of canned goods. Mother said canned food was better because it lasted longer. Mother was always happy when I brought back canned soup. Maybe I'll have some for dinner! I can't use the stove, Mother told me, because I am not old enough to, but I don't think Mr. Lou's stove works anyway. 

Walking out of the kitchen, I realized that Mr. Lou had taken his shoes off, and they were laying politely next to the door, toe and heel parallel to one another. What a rude guest I had been... stomping around distastefully in my sneakers. I kicked them off immediately and placed them next to Mr. Lou's large shoes. I'm sure mine could fit in his if I tried... My socks were horrifically ratty, grayed with dirt and holes splotched over the areas of the fleshier parts. I took them off too, and noticed how disgusting I was. When checking the taps, everything in the house had rusted over except for the bathroom sink. So I stripped off my clothing and sat on the counter, washing first my feet, then taking a towel and washing the rest of me in periods. I then took my clothes and threw them in the cold water, squishing them like Mother did. I left them laying over the bathtub and pulled my towel around me. Oh... I left my bag by Mr. Lou... my other clothes were in there. Shyly looking around the corner, I studied Mr. Lou. He's sleeping... I tiptoed over to him in my too big towel and retrieved my clothes. While sneaking back, however, I tripped and fell with a loud thud on the floor. Ow... he didn't seem to notice. I quickly covered myself and ran for the hallway. 

***

The rain caused the building to creak and groan. Regrettably, I had to open a window because the smell had gotten to a point where no one could stand to be polite anymore. The window above the kitchen sink was now flooded with fresh rainwater, and the carpet in front of Mr. Lou's chair was swollen and ruined. My poor nose was suffering, but, as I tried once more to push the door open, it was stuck in place. I needed Mr. Lou to open the door, but... he looked sick. He was very pale, and it seemed to hurt him when I tried to move his hands for him, for he would firmly disagree with that action, and keep his hand in one place. I felt bad, and decided to stop. 

The soup that I found for dinner was minestrone. I couldn't recall if I had liked this one or not. Breaking open the can was hard, and when I tried smashing it against the side of the counter, a piece of the tile went soaring to the floor and shattered more, the can nothing but dented. I winced and felt dread in my stomach as I saw what I had done. Mr. Lou had probably... oh, wait. He couldn't hear all too well... I would jut have to tell him. I took a fork from one of the drawers and stabbed the corner of the dent in the can, watching it pop open. The smell of uncooked soup hit me in the face as I pried the lid off the soup can. I struggled onto the counter to grab two bowls for us, and carefully poured the soup evenly. It sloshed as I carried it to Mr. Lou, and I set it upon the small table next to him. 

"Here's dinner, Mr. Lou. And, er... I accidentally broke the counter. I'm very sorry, sir." I then went back to the kitchen and sat, eating my own soup while I colored some more. 

***

The rain poured all night long, and as I lay in Mr. Lou's bed, I dreamt of Father. Rather... the only part of him I remember. 

Hands that covered my eyes, then showed me the light of day before covering me again. I think it was a game... The calloused hands that ruffled my hair and caressed my face while he kissed my forehead. The hands I would worship with kisses and love because I could not reach anything else. 

Father's hands, who were there to guide me along. 

***

When I woke, the rain was still spilling from the sky, and I got up. I retrieved my clothes from yesterday's bath and put them away in my pack, where I noticed the soup bowl untouched. Mr. Lou doesn't like soup, then. I took the bowl and ate it for my breakfast. After that, I went and checked up on the greenhouse once more. Nothing. My throat was dry and agglutinative, so I drank from the spout of the overflowing water catcher. Refreshed, I went back to Mr. Lou. 

Oh... 

He had what Mother had on her face sometimes. What was it called... zit? I think she called them zits... Mother told me they were painful sometimes, and that I shouldn't touch them. I placed a napkin from the kitchen on his lap, like Mother used to do. It was barely heard, but there was a mention of marbles in the bedroom. He said he'd teach me to play. Excited, I hurried to get them, and in my excitement, I once again tripped over myself and fell with a loud thud to the floor, the bag opening and scattering the marbles inside across the floor. Most stopped because of the carpet, but a few fell onward. One rolled underneath Mr. Lou's chair and knocked loudly against the wooden leg. I rubbed at my knee, where there was now a scrape, and went to gather the rest of the marbles. The majority nearby were swept into the bag, and my small arms reached underneath dusty furniture to reach the few. I crawled over to Mr. Lou's chair to grab the one when my fingers brushed something cold. I paused, and pulled out a small handle attached to a small tube. It was heavy in my hand, and it brought back unpleasant memories of the men that forced Mother to give away her hard scavenged food. 

I walked to the window and simply dropped the pistol out of it, watching as it fell with a clatter to the tens of feet below. 

***

After playing with the marbles a bit, I got bored, and went to sit upon Mr. Lou's lap for more stories. I used the stool that I kept nearby to stand on, then gently easing myself onto the older man's lap. I was sitting on my legs, however, and when I went to shift them, I discovered the large hole in Mr. Lou's chair. Due to that hole, however, I screamed loudly as my foot slid through and was sliced by a stray spring from within. Oh it hurt, oh it hurt, and I pulled my leg through again, falling off the chair in my haste. I clutched my red streaked leg to my chest and started to sob, reaching for the bandages I placed in my pack. The pain shook my fingers ferociously, and I ended up turning the whole pack upside down to dump its contents. I found the bandages, as well as a small towel, and the "NEOSPORIN" which has the same red cross on it as the bandages. I sat on the floor, tears making my eyesight blurry, and listened to the directions told to me. I cleaned off the blood streaming from a thin line that trailed from my calf to my ankle, rubbed the "NEOSPORIN" on it, then wrapped the long white cloth around and around my leg. It still hurt and afterwards, I hobbled back onto Mr. Lou's lap so I could cry into his chest. 

***

I had fallen asleep, and didn't wake until it was after lunchtime. I shuffled to the kitchen to grab a few vegetables, and returned to Mr. Lou's lap to quietly munch on them. I put one in his mouth but he didn't stir. He was sleeping again, with his eyes open. I pushed the carrot further into his mouth so he would wake and eat, but he didn't want to. I thought about all that I had been through with Mother as I ate. A particularly crisp crunch made me stop chewing.

It had been a quiet day. Birds flew through the air and Mother shot one down with a gun. When she went to go get it, its head had exploded. She gingerly picked up the dead bird and threw it into the slightly blood stained sack at her hip. We ventured further into the woods near town, hunting for more animals. Mother let me come with her because I was good, and I was quiet. I napped against her back as we hiked along, the smell of blood making me feel funny. 

We had squirrel and bird for dinner. Mother let me suck on the bones as she carefully arranged the feathers in a small sack.

"For winter." She had said. The furs went into a different one, scraped of meat and neatly pressed. We were dining beside the old wreckage of a "car", as Mother called it. I was sitting in the back seat, on the old cloth seating while Mother sat on the grass, tending to the fire. The night was cold, and Mother climbed into the car with me and pulled me close, a blanket draped over us both. A loud crunch outside the car made Mother's body stiffen. 

I quickly stuffed the rest of the vegetable in Mr. Lou's mouth, no longer hungry. 

***

Mother used to read books of poetry to me before I fell asleep at night. We had a small booklet made of the ones I enjoyed most, while the other pages of scripture and prose curled under the fire's heat, and sang their tunes on the small breezes that carried the ashes away into the night. Mr. Lou's bookshelves were lined with books, and at a curious spark, I took one and opened it up to delicate lines scrawled on paper. Poems. 

I spent the rest of the daylight reading hundreds and hundreds of words, ripping out the pages of the ones that were beautiful and sad. The ones that reminded me of Mother, and the hotel. The pistol that crashed to the Earth outside the window. 

When the rest of the daylight had been blackened by night, I ate dinner with Mr. Lou, who had spat out the carrot from before and it lay in his lap untouched, before I resided back into the bedroom. I pulled the pages of ripped poetry, and slid them within the small booklet mother and I had made. I reread a few by flashlight before softly passing out. 

***

Mother held me close as the noises wailed outside. The wind and the thunder that clapped in the sky. I shivered under Mother's breast as she held me close, and whispered soft words of soothing lullabies to me. 

It was the loudest clap that woke me from my slumber in Mr. Lou's house. I shot up in the bed, sweat soaking my clothes and fear shooting through my veins. I grabbed the flashlight and read a bit more of the poetry to calm me down, but it didn't work as more and more came, thrashing my window and keeping my hairs on end. I hopped off the bed and ran down the hallway, flashlight in hand. I shined the light in the living room, seeing Mr. Lou's slumped figure still in the chair as always. Dark shadows on the wall made me suddenly anxious, black claws that threatened to grab me if I dared to go over there. I slowly padded over, hoping they wouldn't notice my feet moving. 

"M-Mr. Lou? I-" A louder boom made me run to his leg, frightening me further. "Can I sleep with you?!" I yelled, wishing Mother was here, why was she not here?! 

No answer.

I groaned to myself and yelped, scrambling onto Mr. Lou's lap and hugging the stiff man tightly burying my eyes into his chest. I whimpered and weeped for the second time that day, and hoped it would end. Why hadn't I closed the windows? Why did it smell so bad in here that I needed to keep them open?! My eyes opened with the realization that my flashlight was on, sitting on the ground just a foot away. It would die... I needed the light. I wasn't allowed to play with matches. 

I slipped off of Mr. Lou, and ran for my light, only to curl in on myself as another movement of thunder shook me. I grabbed the light in shaking hands and turned, the shadows on the walls refusing to dissipate in the light's glow. I stumbled and fell on my bottom, light pointed at the strange splatters that sprayed the wall. Their chunky eyes gleamed at me, white and unmoving. I was absolutely petrified. My shaking hands nudged the switch on the light just when lightning stroke outside, another scream before I was back to hugging Mr. Lou tightly, flashlight tucked safely in my hand before it fell through the hole in the chair. My tears soaked the man's shirt and my snot daubed my face. My hands clenched at his jacket and I could feel, slightly, the tears of Mr. Lou in my hair as I cried. I looked up to see the froth not from his eyes, but his nose and mouth. The blood that lay clotted and dried on the walls now pouring forth. Before I succumbed to an exhausted, emotion drained sleep, I could only wonder why Mr. Lou was crying too. 
For :iconnackmu:'s theme challenge, "The Stranger I Met"

I would also like to apologize, I'm so sorry this is late!! I know I promised this before next month's theme came out, but... well, I got a bit lazy to be honest. I had this idea and NO way to actually produce it the way I wished to. So I put it off for a month and it still bothered me that it just wasn't a thing I was putting effort into, so I kicked my butt into gear and here we go. I promise that "Insomnia" (next month's theme) will be a lot more punctual! 

I didn't want to put a filter on this because I felt that it would ruin the ending a bit, so I'm sorry to those who are sensitive to certain things. 

If you want a bit of a backstory, here it is.
This story takes place over a span of 1-3 days. 
"Mother" and "Father" were a happy family with their small child before everything in the world kinda of went to shit and there's not many people left alive. Those left scavenge for what they can find to survive. "Father" left "Mother" when he couldn't take it anymore,"Mother" claiming she never really knew who he actually was like. She stayed with their young child and tried her best to keep them alive. I didn't mention it, but something happened to Mother (like a disease or a fatal wound) that she hid until she was nearly dead. She left so her child wouldn't have to wake up to a dead body, but left the question of why she disappeared in their mind. They roam around from place to place looking for her, and mostly because that's what they did together. "They" become trapped in an apartment with Mr. Lou later on. Mr. Lou is more of an elderly man, probably in his sixties or so, who could no longer reach his greenhouse attic, and decided suicide was better than starving to death. He shot himself in the side of the head, where his blood and chunks splattered the wall, and the gun fell with his hand, promptly down the hole in the side of the chair. If you don't understand some of the references I made to his body while he was dead, I got them from here.  This all takes place in  While "They" has a basic concept of survival, taught by "Mother", they do not understand death quite yet. "They", as in most of my stories, is whoever you want them to be, albeit, I wrote them to be a young child. Personally, I've been told I was a rather smart young child, and I feel as though most people may underestimate what children are actually capable of as they grow up and forget what it's like to be in their shoes. That's probably the main reason I chose a child in the first place, as well as this character's particularly naive approach to death. It was a lot easier to subtly hint in death for. Im interested to know what the reader though of for the narrative character, so go ahead and comment who you thought they were, what they looked like and the such. 

I actually had a lot of inspiration for this. I was reading Lord of the Flies in class just after I had this idea, but the only thing I actually used from there was the parachute man. I LOVE the settings in "The Last Of Us" and "Fragile Dreams: Farewell Ruins of the Moon" (I recommend watching Cryotic's playlist if you haven't heard of the second game). 

Whoo! Thank you for reading! 
© 2015 - 2024 Blueyedgirl27
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nackmu's avatar
Dear Blueyedgirl27 ,
ich finally made it. I finally got here. Till the end. Of your writing and your descriptions and all links you gave me.
You say Whoo! Thank you for reading! and I say Thank you for writing! ^^

First of all: I really think you are a great writer! You don't fail to use a very visual language and project a clear picture or smell or touch or emotion into my head.
The length and the fact that it isn't written in my mother tongue stupidly reinforced my own lack of capability to read a long time without getting tired. That`s why I swallowed your story within 3 reading sessions. But these were yummy bites however ^^

However, how unlucky for me, I didn't quite well get that Mr. Lou wasn't amongst the living anymore when I got the the end of your story.
Maybe you mentioned the talk and stuff, I dodn't know... I really thought that man was only super sad and melancholic and "ready" to die or so... :/ Sorry about that...

But I sucked in every scene you created and every memory you drew. It was pretty fascinating to enter this apocalyptic world. And frightning.

It`s been, as always, a pleasure to have you amongst the participants of this project. Your art is so diffrent and of so much quality. Thank you!