GIRLS BOYS AND GIRLS

Chapter Two- Week Eleven

It didn't take me by surprise when I realised what a boy could do to a soul. In light of the fact of his animosity toward me, I have decided to stay clear. It's bad enough I have been forced to look into his hollowing eyes, but now I must trek to the wastelands to collect toilet paper and oil drums without much more than 3 half empty batteries in the Portable CD player to drone out the noise of his footsteps and occasionally sighing when Samson says something jokey to him.

What has proved a harrowing experience is this morning's wash routine, especially after the very awkward encounter last night in the garden. I eventually did get a reply from Van, it was something along the lines of "I needed to piss" and a swift goodbye. I thought he may order me out of the cold like Eileen, but it seems he did not care, seemingly at all. Closer inspection of the clean snow outside revealed his footsteps in the snow leading nowhere but the middle of the garden and no sign of the piss he claimed to take.

I was wrong when I thought snow would bring death, it brought a thick covering and a wondrous ignorance of any tragedy. Sally danced in it which confused me, how she could dance with no music. She seemed to be singing a song in her head with her eyes closed- moving very slowly. "What song are you dancing to?" I shout over the couple meters distance. Sally had beautiful locks of blonde hair that curled waves at the end, her circle glasses perched at the end of her nose and her short legs twisted around and around like a ballet dancer. "Albatross!" she shouted, "Can't you hear it?". Thing is, right then I did hear it. As clear as day coming from the distance, how was that? I decide to quicken my pace to reach the rest who are at least 50 meters in front. As I close in I realise where the music Is coming from. Samson carries a shower radio in his hands. "Why is a radio playing a song Samson?" I ask confused "What station is that?" He shrugs and continues smiling as if nothing is out of the ordinary. "Am I dreaming? Give me that!" I hold out my hand and my legs desperately try to keep up with his long strides. "Sabine, it's most likely an abandoned radio station with the tapes still running" he says as if this is the most plausible scenario. "Even if there was someone there, what are the chances of finding that Radio station in the whole of England?" My heart doesn't deflate like anyone would think, I am grateful for this suggestion, as my sudden outburst of excitement quickly subsides. I realise how doomed that adventure would be. I imagine how many miles we would walk in search for nothing, and how leaving Hope would be stupid considering how long it took for me to come across in the first place. I don't know what the answer is- nobody else seems to be considering the long-term plans, our surrounding area will soon run out of salvageable supplies and I don't intend on starving to death. Following radio silence has potential.

My grandfather once said to me, that survival takes two wheels. It occurred to me when I was eight years old, that I had no idea what he was talking about. As we walk through what were once roads and villages, buildings are caved in and burnt black whilst other houses no longer have their structure, simply basements left bare and wind whistling around the concrete walls. Metal structures stick out of walls, rusted and eroded. Plants have refused to cover the disaster, considering that it was October when the bombs started dropping and it must be at least mid-December now. Our party has spread in a line, shoulder to shoulder but at least a meter a part each. Our boots crunch on debris whilst be slightly lift the snow with our feet to check for anything mechanically useful. It started snowing again but not in a heavy blistery way, calmly almost like we were being dusted. This is only my third venture out to the Wasteland and although I usually have earphones and distract myself by trying to picture what was once here before. I notice a line of buildings to the right. One of them crumbled but with an intact roof on the top, the side of the building is a half of a metal sheath drilled tight to whatever remain of the structure. What I find peculiar about this sight is the clear abundance of human life. Cans of food are scattered along the sides in which the metal sheath shelters them from the snow. The small window reveals a fracture in the glass, glass that should be completely shattered. "Do you think there were people there?" I ask no one in particular. Samson looks up from what he was crouched in the snow peering at. "I've never noticed that before" he says sceptically. I can't tell if he means the building or the metal sheath.

It is then when I realise Van has come to stand beside me, he moves slowly toward the alley way and is clicking his tongue incessantly. The tiny window aligns with the concrete ground that must serve as the basement. He walks toward the window and uses a quick swift movement of his leg to throw his boot into the pane of glass. It smashes and gives out loudest echo I have heard for weeks. I almost forgot what disaster sounded like, and I flay my arms in a circle to try catch something nearby to soften my fall- but I catch air and collapse on my front. Clutching my ears, I attempt to block out the crashing around me. My knees begin to wet with cold snow and tears wet my lap. For a long time while I sit in a ball on the ground my breathing slows and I imagine turning on and off a flashlight and focusing on balls of light, which always seems to calm me. As my mind comes back to my own state of affairs I realise sally has been sitting beside me rubbing my back and combing through the ends of my hair with her tiny fingers. Samson and Van stand side by side looking into the distance. I pull the sleeves down my arms and stand up. My vison sets upon colour coming from the inside of the basement. It Is Midday and the sun reflects off a colour filled abyss through the window.

"Are you coming in?" I hear a voice. Samson is looking over his shoulder while Sally Slides down the inside wall of the basement through the smashed window. Her tiny fingers clutch the sill and then I hear her feet hit the ground about two meters below. I go in after her, slowly getting on all fours and backing in feet first, followed by Samson. The room is small and reeks of damp and mould. Along all four walls are tapestries printed with tie dye yellows and blues and purples. Dust is shaken up and the room is alight with flecks that shine in the winter sun. It is not a bedroom or storage, there are vast amounts of candles and blankets and cushions. Vinyl records sit in metal crates decorated with fake flowers. A large Stereo cabinet lines the wall opposite the window, still open with a record still placed carefully below the Stylus. Against the cushioned wall sits three Car batteries decorated with plastic ivy vines, along with six red and black jump start leads carefully connected to a main plug inside the wall, along with the protruding wires sticking out. Wires lay a miss and strewn from the stereo in a frenzy- and gently wrapped around copper ends connecting to a large light on the ceiling and a small microwave perched on a cushion on top on the batteries. Dust lays in a layer over the scene in front of us. Whoever was here is long gone.

"I ran out of food" The voice cracks the air.