Journey

Day three in this hell. I look around and the faces which once were as clear as day are blurred and distorted, a ghastly visage to behold. Colours bend and shapes become unrecognisable on the path through this old city. The welcoming chirrup of some small bird transformed; now a menacing screech. Why did i think it was still safe to go outside?

All along the street evidence of destruction lies strewn on either side. Windows smashed. An upturned car. Personal belongings they chose to leave behind. Or were forced to. Looking back, my footprints are clear. Perfect shapes cut into weeks of dust and ash. I really should leave this place.

Not long now and I'll be out of the city proper. Only three days since I woke up again and already time is becoming blurred. Is it three days or is it three years?

My stomach rumbles, stirring me from my trance-walk, the noise cutting through a deep silence I hadn't noticed before. Standing there on the crest of sixth street, a wide panorama sweeps out in front of me. The silence. The stillness. Is it everywhere? Time drifts by again and my mind begins to play tricks on me. Colours have become soft now, as if a warning of things to come. Rigid shapes bend toward me as I walk. Buildings loom in above me. The signposts reach out for my attention, but point nowhere.

The sun is setting; I must find shelter from the cold. What a marvel electricity used to be. A simple gesture for light. Heat. Food. Water. Now the overhead pylons seem to sneer. A mockery of their previous position in society.

This night will be as hard as the others. Another short walk, a few corners, a hill. Finally some luck. An old church looms out of the coming darkness, surrounded by ancient graves. The few fresh ones testament to the rapidity of our decline. As if by providence, the building remains untouched. One shining light in a city of darkness. A world. There isn't much inside, but I find some old communal wine. I decide not to spend the night unconscious again.

Curled in a corner, makeshift blankets do their best to comfort me. But the gaze of angels and saints is unnerving. Do they know?

It is now more than two weeks, by my reckoning. There are no clocks. No time keeping but the count of days and in my current state my counting could be desperately off.

Judging by the faint glow behind the high northern clouds it must be midday. It's getting harder to tell. I think some unknown process is adding to the smog and the days are getting darker.

I have often caught my mind wandering of late. Back to the city I lived in. Back to the church with its' unrelenting gaze. But that was years ago, wasn't it? There is no more city. No more more destructive reminders. Out here I am utterly alone. Maybe not alone, but not surrounded by memories. Thankfully, the conflict doesn't seem to have penetrated this far from the cities. There is wildlife here, but most have moved on. Nothing like the wilderness it should be.

Time to begin again. My route has no meaning. I walk this way, then that. Never seeing. Each time, each journey, I can't stop thinking about that day. Waking up. Alone. Confused. I wonder how many others there are like me. Others who didn't die, but didn't even live through the process either. I don't even know why I was asleep, or how I could stay oblivious to the world as it descended into chaos. It wasn't a hospital I awoke in, but it might as well have been. I had been stripped of purpose, comfort, conscience, companionship. And so, since then, I have wandered, ever wandered. Ever alone. My feet take me places and I follow. I must. To rest overlong is to risk an open grave and I am not ready to give up. 

Darkness falls, I should rest. My feet continue to lead me on however, as if some intelligent urgency had awoken them. Two more hours into the night and I am still unwilling, or unable, to stop. These lands are unfamiliar, and yet...

A twig snaps nearby, the first noise in days, and I am relieved to have control of myself again. Waiting. Waiting. I thought all the largest animals had abandoned this place. The trees are silent. Even the wind pauses.

Shuffling behind me and again; snap!

Curious and unafraid, or beyond fear at least, I turn around. The trees recede. The forest and the lands beyond are bathed in light. There is nothing to see. Nothing to be seen, I am alone in an eternity of light and all I can feel is the sensation of movement. I recall the first time I was in an elevator, as a child. All that time ago. The thrill of moving upwards and of not knowing my destination.

Only this feeling is more intense. It is almost comforting. Almost... no!

Impossible.

The booming noise is like thunder inside my head. Over and over the same rhythm. Slow. Full of meaning. But the pain in my head is lessening. I start to imagine words coinciding with the thunder, random at first. Names of places. Objects I have seen on my journey. Even some words I don't quite understand. Then, with one final burst of noise it ceases. And I am disorientated by the sudden realisation of the final string of words.

"Do you know who you are?"

Blinking into the light-filled void I am speechless. Then the thunder pain in my head.

Again: "Do you know who you are?".

What a ridiculous question. Of course I know who I am. Who of all the people of this world doesn't know themselves?

This world? I meant my world. The world.

"Do you know who you are?"

Enough!

It is enough.

With one unconscious action the light is banished from my vision, the thunder; silenced.

I am seated in this familiar room again with my interrogator. He shrugs. Rising, we leave the room and head down the endless corridor. Amid pleasantries I explain I never found out what happened to the people who used to live on this world. But there was a Struggle. He asks our destination. 

Looking up, I reply: "Home".