When the World Ends

The Good She Has Done

She brings light to all that she touches. Her wings are broken, but she helps others learn to fly again.

There is a man who has only his daughter left. His daughter is catatonic--she will not speak, or move from the place where she watched her mother die. The beam that crushed her mother's body stared back at the girl who lives, but is lifeless.

She sees the small girl, and she sees the father who still hopes. He tried to get the girl to speak, to eat, telling her that they need to move on from here. The girl does not respond.

   So she walks up to the girl, and she sits. The father, who still hopes but whose eyes are beginning to lose their sparkle, only stares. 

   She begins to talk to the little girl. She asks her questions, and then carries on as if the little girl has answered them.

   Have you ever seen a husky puppy? They're the cutest, aren't they? Yes, well, you see, Keane and I found one awhile back, it belonged to this little boy, and he was so worried about his puppy...

   She carries on, recounting only the happy stories. She leaves out the sad parts. And so, she talks to the little girl.

   Yes. Well, we found a little boy, and he was crying. Then, he saw the puppy, and he said 'Buster!' really loud-like. So we knew it was his, you know? So--hey are you gonna eat that? It looks good, can I have some?

   And the little girl hands Robin a cracker from the box that her father had set beside her.

   Ah, thanks.

   She goes quiet, and then the little girl asks, So, was it his puppy?

   Yes, it was. Do you like fairy tales?

   I do.

   Keane and I have some, in our bags. We found them at the book store. Do you want them?

   Really? You'll give them to me?

   Yes. Keane and I don't need them anymore.

   And the little girl begins to cry, nodding her head as Robin pulls out seven thin books. Five are princess books; the remaining two are simply well-known children's stories. She hands them to the little girl's crying father, who is hugging his daughter so tightly and mumbling, Oh, thank you, thank you....

   And she stands up and out of her bag she pulls her camera and she takes a picture of the two. Then, another. The second photo she sets on the little girl's lap, and then she takes my hand and we begin to walk away.

   And the words the father said, so quietly, as we'd begun to leave: Are you an angel?

Things that would normally had been questioned now went without saying. A small boy sits on the steps of a crumbling house; he is skin and bones. Beside him, a dog.

   She sets beside the dog, and she pets it. Then, she sets down a small tin of candy, a bottle of water. For the dog, she opens a can of dog food we had found and had not been unlucky enough to yet have to eat; she pours it on the ground in front of its muzzle. 

   Without speaking, she stands. We leave.

A man trying to get his boat across a lake. The boat will not float; he doesn't have the tools or the wood to fix what is broken. He needs a hammer, he tells her when she asks what's wrong. She tells him to wait and returns with a small, solid brass owl.

   Will this work?

   I think so, it's solid enough. Thank you so much, little lady.

   It's no problem.

   Do you and your friend need a ride across the lake?

   No. We're not going that way. Thanks, though.

   I return with the wood the man needs. Wood is easy to find now, with buildings and trees joined together in ruin. The man finished repairing his boat.

   Are you sure there's nothing I can do for you two? 

   Mhm. But thank you for offering. Keane and I'll be off, now.

   Alright. You two be safe, y'hear?

   Will do.

The cry of an infant. Abandoned, in the middle of the street. More so, what used to be a street, but is now chunks of concrete and asphalt.

   She walks over, and she looks around, but there is no one. Whoever left this baby was expecting it to die out here. Most likely, they couldn't take care of it. It looked to be a newborn; it couldn't have possibly been over a few weeks old, at most.

   It is wrapped in a bundle of blankets, and set down in a small box. She picks up the bundle of blankets. She holds it carefully, and I can see the sadness in her eyes. 

   It's only a baby.

   It is.

   Keane...

   It's okay. We'll find a way to take care of it.

   I'm scared, Keane.

   And so she'd held the baby, and we'd walked.

A few days later. A military vehicle, driving by. The baby wails. It stops.

   A man approaches us. He asks if this is our child, and she tells him no, that we found it and saved it from dying. The man asks if we're able to take care of ourselves. We tell him yes, we are.

   And with the baby? he asks us. Even with it?

   She admits that it makes it very difficult. And so the man in the military uniform offers to take the baby to base, and to find a home for it. And we let him.

After he leaves, we walk. Always walking. We don't speak, though. Not for awhile.

   Then, I ask what we're both thinking.

   With the way the world is now, would it be better if that baby had just died?

   She thinks for a bit. Then, she answers.

   No. Now it has a chance. Everyone needs to be loved at least once before they die.

   And then we're quiet again. But my mind isn't.

   Even now, I think the same thought.

   Did she know how very loved she was, even back then?

   Or was she still so terribly lonely?