Hidden world

Chapter 3

Alex's POV!

I step out of my, say, humble abode and walk to the group of market place tents. They are empty today which isn't to  bad, I mean, that happens eventually so that's why I keep my stash of hunting weapons on hand. I go back to the cottage and check to make sure that Rumi is still sleeping. After what happened yesterday I know she'll be having nightmares of some kind.

I grab my machete off of the counter and slip out of the creaking house. I walk past the patch and go up a little ways, searching for the path I have cut down every now and then, one that leads to plenty of food sources, including the rarity of meat. I walk and walk and finally I come upon a fat squirrel. Creep up to it, the wind swaying my short black hair around me.

I drop my machete to the ground, making sure not to scare the precious food. I reach forward and press my hands against its matted fur. I then snap its frail neck and stick it into Rumi's bag, which I snagged on my way out. There's a good chance she'd want to chew me out for using her bag for dead animals, especially if some of them are bloody. But since I saved her life by taking another yesterday I think she will keep quiet.

I walk even farther and come upon a deep hole, looking to be something of a rabbit, which I haven't seen since I was four and my father brought one home for dinner to stew in the water that we had been cooking for dinner, just that. I had eaten hot water for four weeks straight, today was a different story, a beacon of hope truly.

I dig deep into the hole seeing if I could reach something of furriness, sadly, I don't but I do reach something. See, it's against all hunting rules to reach into a dark hole that you can't see in but I had to take the risk. Out I pull a book, it is thick maybe three hundred pages, and has dank, waterlogged sheets. I flip to the front and see that the book was published way before the war. It was published in America.

The book tells a story of a great war and a downfall of America, little did the author know that the book portrayed what would end up being true. I take a second look at the year published and I see that it was published the year of the shut down, the year that everything took a turn for the worst. The year that America fell, and then there was nothing.

I notice a strip of paper sticking out of the book and flip to that page I read out loud the contents of it "The citizens cried out in fear for the fact they were lost, abandoned by the hope and structure their measly illusion of government provided. But I stand alone in the thought that I can become more without government then with it, I can be saved by my own will and power. I will start a great revolution to bring back the true freedom and equality my past country could stand for. This point in time marks the start of the resistance, a hope that not do we have a structure of Communism but a land of Rights and Structure.

"Do not so quietly speak of your beliefs and the truths they may hold. This is and will forever be a nation of the one true God, Jehovah, and Jesus Christ. We are the new republic, of individuality and safety for those who seek it, refuge for those who cry out, and a fighting desperation of what truly should happen." I stop and look at the slip of paper that was shoved into the book, marking this page.

The small sheet seems blurry so I wipe my eyes and find unshed tears. I hmph in anger as I smush them out of my eyes, leaving no remnant. I read the smudged paper again and realize on it is one short phrase that sparks hope in me, and hopefully many others

                                      "Safety and Refuge are coming."

                                                                   - the resistance

I shout with joy and shove the paper into the bag, the book back into the hole and run as fast as I can back to the patch. When I get to the cottage I take out the slip of precious promise and throw the bag on the floor, angering Rumi.

"Why do you treat my things as trash?" She questions but I stop her from picking up her bag from the rotted floor

"Look, look here at what I found when I was hunting." I say and shove the paper in her face. She reads it and looks to me to make sure I am not lying. To be honest not a pencil has been found since the days after the war and the falling of government. So the fact the note is wrote in lead is a whole different fact of happiness and hope.

We jump around and celebrate by a great squirrel and fruit kabob before going to sleep, happy and content that there will finally be peace in this place. That we do now have what the resistance is promising, hope.