Bliss

1 - Sky

I live for the moment that I step out of my home, and not really for what comes after. Yet in that brief twenty seconds of letting the first breath of wind hit my face, nothing really matters, and I love it.

I'm wearing my new jogging suit, the one that I bought myself. It is so rare that anyone ever saves up for anything besides payment for their daily rations, but having only turned eighteen a few months ago, I don't have to worry about that yet. And besides, the suit is nice, tight fitting yet freeing at the same time. It's better than running in my work uniform, which is tight underneath my armpits and the backs of my knees. It's better than what I normally wear, too. It kind of looks unusual when a girl's shirt is fluttering behind her like a cape.

"Do not forget that today you will be let out early!" Maya chirps from somewhere within the house. I didn't even see her as moved down the stairs. She's never up this early.

"How can I not?" I reply, turning around just a little to see exactly in what state she is. Maya is eighty five years old, her skin sagging in wear places, wizened in every aspect, especially her face. Her hands hold deep crevices. But her eyes . . . they're these really deep pools of brown, warmer than the sun that is beating down its rays outside even this early in the morning. She is leaning on her walker, her back arched.

"The soldiers are arriving today. You must not be late. Do not come home after fifteen," Maya warns, but her voice is anything but grave. Her face, if it wasn't like that already, softens, and then transforms into a barely-there frown. "Where's Ingrid."

"She's sleeping," I say. My feet are already on the porch, my body arching as far as it can towards the street. The only thing keeping me from running is my hand, which still grasps onto the door frame.

"Did you not say a goodbye to her?" Maya asks.

"I said that's she's sleeping," I say. "Trying to wake her up would be . . . futile."

"You haven't bid even a good morning to her in weeks," says Maya. With her fragile hand, she motions for me to step back inside. I think about reminding her that I am eighteen already, that she no longer needs to be my chaperone, but the more I think about it, the more I am reminded that it would only sadden her.

"I'll say good morning when I come back," I say. "Right now, I'm going to be late."

"You're never late."

"Goodbye, Maya!" I say, ignoring the sudden feeling of guilt inside of me. It's only brief though, and as soon as the door closes behind me, the knot unties, and I smile.

The sun really is beating down, and I feel the rays of heat bouncing off of the cracked asphalt. I grab my shoes from underneath the porch stairs, holding them in my hand as I start running, my bare feet skimming over the damp blades of grass.

At first, I'm always slow. Painfully slow. The houses on each side of the street are still sharp at the sides of my vision: all the same, with their gray, smooth walls and their black, soot covered roofs. Two stories of dull monotony. It's eight in the morning, the prime time for adults to start biking to work, avoiding the road because of the cracks running through it. As my legs start pounding harder, though, everything starts to blur.

At the end of the road, the ground drops off. Beyond it, I can almost make out the only thing that remains in focus: the ocean.

"Good morning, Sky," Darla calls out, her voice high pitched, mimicking her smallness. She's a younger woman, one of the younger adults in our neighborhood. I nod in her direction, barely registering her face, before I start going faster.

I try to ignore the fact that I'm getting out of breath, and I pretend this is like one of my regular runs, the ones that I did before I got assigned a job, before my life become more idle.

It's a wonderful summer day, maybe the first one that is dry enough. There's a breeze, but I can barely feel it: all there seems to be is the warm, happy morning.

I cherish it while it lasts.