#31

Escaping Hell

My knife falls from my hand and I stumble back against the ladder.  Loud whimpers escape my mouth and I clasp my hand over it.  I'm going home.  I begin to pull myself up the ladder, crying desperately for help.  I reach the top and barely manage to roll myself out onto the ground, collecting ash all over my blood-soaked clothes.  I lie on the ground coughing and wailing, wishing for something to come, to save me from this place. 

After a few moments I wipe the tears from my face and pick myself up.  I straighten my stance the best I can and take a deep breath, ignoring my broken bones cracking under the movement.  After examining my surroundings and the dead meadow, I realize that outside is equally as cold and grey as the hell which I've just escaped.  The sky is a smoky slate, almost identical to the floor of the shelter, and the ash as poisonous as staying confined in that box.  The pure, clear stream which used to run through here is now a mushy ashen liquid, and the trees as dead as my sister and uncle. 

I take one more breath and begin in the direction of home.  Time passes and I arrive at the end of the street leading to my house.  Large grey lumps litter the road, and by their shape I can tell they're cattle.  Looking down the lane at the once-blue farmhouse, I see the house itself still stands, but the windows have been blown out of it.  I peer across the street to where our animals once lived, and a dim reflection strikes my eye. 

The silver flag pole on top of our grain silo still stands tall and proud, reflecting what little sunlight is detectable off its top.  However, the beautiful red, white, and blue flag that regularly flies atop of it seems to be missing.  I make my way over to the bottom of the silo and begin kicking in the ash.  After finding nothing, I drop to my hands and knees to sift through it, until finally I locate a large, tatter cloth.  I wipe as much ash from it as I can, leaving the better part of it is discernibly red, blue, and grey. 

Hobbling, I make my way to the back of the silo, the pain in my side becoming more tender with every movement.  Once again, I find myself looking up a seemingly endless ladder, and pull myself upward, crunching my rib cage with every ascended rung.  At last, I reach the top of the ladder and pull myself over onto the roof of the silo.  With the flag still in hand, I lip over to the pole.  As my hand reaches to pull the rope down, I realize it isn't there, and must have been broken off, like everything else.

I grip the material in my hand and sit down on the edge next to the flagpole, letting my legs dangle over the side.  I gaze nostalgically at the once awe-inspiring mountains on the West side of the valley, and try to recall what they looked like before the destruction happened.  I  remember the patches of orange and red that would appear along the side of the rocks in the fall, and the mesmerizing waterfall hidden behind them.  Reality fades back into view, and I am left glaring at the barren heap that's left behind.  People always said all good things would come to an end.  I didn't think they were right. 

I glance around once more, clutching the flag tighter in my hand, remembering all that had happened for me to end up here.  I look down at it, rubbing its once white stars and stripes between my fingers.  For the last time, tears well up in my eyes, and I say the only things that come to my mind.  "I'm sorry Danielle. I didn't know what I was doing.  And I'm sorry uncle Keith.  I didn't know it was you.  I'm sorry I let you down,"  I sniffle as the tears roll down my cheeks.  "But I'll be with you soon enough." 

I set the flag down next to her pole, thanking her for everything that she'd done for me, and look up at the sky once more.  Indeed, they were right.  All good things must come to an end.  I lean forward from my seat on the silo, and begin to fall, the wind pushing against my face, reminding me that I shouldn't have come back.