Short Story: Wisps and Embers

So rather that leave this page on the shelf till next April, I've decided to post any short stories that I write. So here's the first one. It's a post-apocalyptic piece based on one of the poems I wrote in April of the same name. It's a little melancholy but I hope you enjoy.

 

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            Can you see it? That pale glow out there in the distance? It cuts across the horizon like a blade through grass. It means I’m nearly there. It means I’m nearly home. And that glow I see. I have seen it before. It means that my home is burning. Like everywhere else, the bricks and wood have become nothing more than fuel for the fire. I used to care, but not anymore. I just smile.

                The respirator makes a husk out of my breathing as I trudge through the ashes towards the coastline. The houses by the shore are ruins, and thick soot buries most of the cracked roads. I used to be afraid that I would find my home in this state, after travelling for so long to get here. Now I no longer feel fear. I don’t recall its paralysing grip upon me. I’m not even sure I feel anything at all. I just look up to the discoloured sky and foul clouds, wondering.

                If I had found this place in such a way a couple of years ago, I might have despaired but now, as I drift between the fallen debris, I am almost content. Hours pass like minutes, and the scent of crumbled civilisation forces its way into my mask. Rusted iron and melted tyres. Bones amid the twisted metal. Snowflakes of dust, promising a gentle winter.

                Sometimes I feel alone. It’s been weeks since I last saw a living face. Even wildlife is rare. Few creatures survive the venomous fumes. Most of the time, memories are enough to sustain me. They used to keep me awake at night, the loved ones lost to the fire. Now they kiss me softly in the dark and ask me to join them in the warmth. That’s why I’m here. It seems fitting to me. To go to rest in a place once beautiful, to meet those who came before and will come again. I whisper out to them with hushed thoughts. I love you.

I kneel in the sand. Yeah, this is the place. Water before me, the remains of childhood memories behind me and the final valiant plant life beside me. My fingers no longer tremble as they reach for the mask. With a painless tug, the piece comes loose, and I effortlessly cast it aside. Then the air, unadulterated and toxic, seeps into my lungs. I can feel it beginning to choke me.

My breath draws short.
Thoughts grow scarce.
And I see this place as it truly is.

 

So clear,
A gust drifting,
Velvet under starlight,
Washes over skin,
Tender flesh,
Neither living nor dead,
Life among the lifeless,
Louder than slumber,
Whispers within dreams,
Quiet like dusk,
Ripples on the ocean shore.

A leopard creeping,
The last creature I witness,
Paw prints in the dulled emerald,
Meadow trampled underfoot,
Crouch among the bark,
Watching me die,
Stalking,
Through wisps and embers,
The ashes of all that is good.