It wasn't everyday that Leah saw the sky. In a time where clouds were indistinguishable from the eternal smog, not a single person could see the sun, much less the moon. Light was artificial, day and night, due to the fact that the only weather the city had ever experienced for the last ten years was either cloudy, rainy or windy. And the dark cloud of smoke hovering over the skyscrapers never left, blocking out the sun and the sky.
Out of habit, Leah looked at the sky whenever she was at the window. Despite the fact that the only change was the slight brightening and darkening from the sun and moon, she would pretend. Pretend that she could see the sky, the clouds, the birds. Pretend that she could see the moon and the stars. Pretend that small, natural green leaves sprouted from the ground, and bloomed into flowers. Pretend that animals roamed the prairies, mastered the sea, flew on the wind, and hid in the forests.
But none of that had been seen since Earth had given up.
The pollution of many years had piled up until the ecosystem had reached it's limit. The skies darkened, the water undrinkable, the soil unwilling to let plants take root, the rains acid. Farmers and ranchers, people living in the country or in small towns, moved to larger cities to earn more money to pay for expensive bills, where the pollution continued. Every hour, someone got sick of died, and no one ever went out anymore. Leah, an orphan whose family had died long ago, lived in an abandoned library at the edge of the wide clutter of buildings. There, she read book after book, stocking up on the many stories people no longer had the time for, and scavenged for food whenever she needed to. There, she lived her dream-like life in a desolated, grim, very real world.
It was day. Leah could tell from the small difference in light shining through the clouds that the sun was out, making the grayscale city a hint brighter. Holding a book up to the desk light, she sighed and looked out the window. As usual, there was nothing; until she noticed the slightest movement zooming between the buildings. Astounded, she gaped at it, then leapt to action. She grabbed the duffel bag she always wore, and dashed out the library after the strange shaded blur.
Something at the back of her mind stirred, but she ignored it as her feet pounded down the empty streets. Already panting from the lack of exercise, she kept her eyes on the “unidentified flying object” ahead of her. She was just climbing the hill that marked the edge of the city when she tripped, losing the mysterious item. She scrambled to her feet, but it was long gone. With a disappointed sigh, Leah sat back down to catch her breath and took the time to take in her surroundings.
Dead grass and weeds were scattered throughout the cracked soil all around her. Behind her, she saw the gloomy figure of sprawling skyscrapers through the smog. Up ahead , there was a strange shaped shadow.
With a groan, Leah pulled herself up and walked on. The constant drone of machinery had faded away, leaving a thick silence. Silent, save the loud crunches her feet made on the dead ground. Suddenly, a high-pitched sound pierced through the silence, repeating over and over, surprising Leah. Her head shot up, and she was met by the sight of a towering form. The small tickling in her memory returned, and this time, Leah remembered.
She remembered what she had read about in the library, remembered what she had learned about in night-time stories, remembered what she had heard about in songs and poems. The tall structure in front of her was a tree, an oak tree, and the little flying object she had seen just before was a bird. Neither of which had been seen in more than a decade. The strange shade the bird had been was the color red, and the tree held green leaves, colors that had long since died away in the city. Looking up, Leah found the source of the chirping sitting on a higher branch of the oak tree, and confirmed her assumptions. The bird was, indeed, a red-feathered cardinal. Smiling, she recalled what cardinals had symbolized. Hope, pride, energy, renewal.
Softly, Leah placed her hand on the trunk of the tree, but instantly pulled back. She dropped to her knees and covered her head, holding her breath, waiting for the land below her to open up and swallow her. Nothing. Cautiously, she slowly stood up and stared at the tree, and once again gingerly poked the bark. Then, she spread out the rest of her hand so her whole palm lay on the tree bark and closed her eyes. What texture! Never before had she come in contact with something so rough, and yet gentle at the same time.
A smile spread across Leah’s face. Hope. There was still hope. The bird and the tree were new, things she had never experienced in her life before. They had brought a splash of color, of adventure, into her black-and-white world.
She dug through the duffel bag on her shoulders and pulled out an old camera. Focusing on the cardinal in the tree, she moved so the dull city she lived in stood in the background, and took the picture. She smiled again, and as she waited for the ink to dry, she grabbed a notebook and pen from the bag. In careful letters, she wrote, “Hope” at the top of a page, along with the year in the corner. Next, with a couple of pieces of tape, she stuck the recently taken picture of the bird and tree into the book, and wrote two words beside it. “Snapshot, One.”
