After Party

The Leaving Party

Life had whizzed past her. The black shells of wood blurred past the led sky; the hollow houses disappeared in the dust; the grey mist whipped at the windows. A tunnel sucked up the carriage. Darkness. Bria's fingers skimmed the surface of the glass. The wheels roared underneath the floors. A dim overhead light flickered as she read.

'Well, I never..' said the man next to her.

'What?'

The train rocked gently.

'I never thought I'd see someone read again.'

The man leaned over, straining at the portable screen she held in her wrinkled hands. Bria looked at the man's old, drawn face. His thin, blue lips were carved into a curious smile and a sparkle of youth still glittered in his eyes.

'Reading is a good way to stay distracted,' said Bria, entertaining his eagerness.

The man leaned closer, lowering his gaze.

'What is it about?'

'The archives call it cli-fi.'

'You mean sci-fi.'

'No,' frowned Bria. 'Cli-fi.'

She took advantage of his pause.

'Climate fiction. It's a very old genre, you see.' She pointed at the date on the first page. The man gasped.

'And what is climate fiction?' He questioned. 'Does the writer imagine a eutopia of harmless weather? Warm, summer mornings and frosty winter nights?'

The old face returned to the back of his seat and smiled faintly. A reminiscent warmth glazed over him.

'At least, that's what my grandparents talked about when they mentioned the weather.'

Bria nodded. She spoke quietly while taking in his sensitive expression.

'This book was written when the weather was just like that. The writer imagined a future of scorching summers and baron winters. Immigration, famine, war, and finally emptiness.' She looked away. 'Life as we know it now.'

'So, it was a prophecy?'

'It was a scientific prediction.'

She snapped the device away and watched the walls of the tunnel rush away.

'It's miserable, I know, to think how easy it once was.'

'It'll be over soon,' smiled the man. A hungry grin opened up across his face.

Bria looked uneasily around her. The tunnels felt emptier and the light was harder. Who wanted to openly acknowledge it? She went back to reading and the man spoke again.

'Reading is a good distraction,' he chuckled.

Her frail eyes averted from the page and the quiet voice betrayed fear.

'It feels morbid. This journey.'

'Think of it as a symbol. Like going to your own funeral but you get to go home at the end of it.'

Bria bit her lip. 'The leaving celebration makes it feel very official.'

'It's better to celebrate while the rest of us are still alive. Most of won't have long left.'

The man's tone startled Bria. She sat back suddenly and inhaled sharply. The walls of the tunnel flapped away and the carriage filled with bleak daylight. Outside looked even emptier than before.

-

Bria was lost under the crisp blue sky. There were hundreds of people who had joined her. She was just another wrinkled, fleshy face amongst the frail skeletons, drifting like a pale leaf. The forest was a portrait of wooden spindly sticks mapped across the sky.