Spectacle Island: A Fallout Story

Quarantine

I smoke a lonely cigarette, isolated from the light bustle and friendly voices on the island. A wave of madness washes over me, black and thick like the tar I inhale into my lungs.
I couldn't keep him here.
I mean~ them; the sick.
I look out at the houseboat that floats precariously. It looks like a little speck from out my bedroom window, but I can spot a couple of bodies moving about.
They're going to die out there... but at least they'll have somewhere to sleep. Everyone agreed sending them to the houseboat was the best course of action.
So... that's the best I can do...

Right?

Night falls.
I sit in the orange embrace of the fire with an old, crinkly book I managed to recover from my home in The Sanctuary.
Nowadays, it's a miracle if I come across a book, let alone one I like. So, I constantly compose stories in my head and bring them to life with my low, sweet voice, hopefully resonating within the minds, bodies and spirits of the listeners.
Someone takes the seat across the fire; I can smell the sharp scent of alcohol. 
I flick my view from the dusty pages of my book to see the dimly lit face of MacCready; our eyes meet. He raises his flask and tightly closes his lips; seems like he doesn't wanna talk. I nod and look back down to my book, the author pulling me into a world I forgot existed.
"Hey."
I look back up; he's got a twisted smile and a sparkle in his eye.
"Hi," I return his greeting in a grey tone, just wishing to return to my story.
Silence.
I get through about a page until he decides to interrupt again.
"What are you reading?"
"The Chameleon Man," I lift up the book to show an anthropomorphic chameleon on the cover, dressed in a trench coat and smoking a cigarette.
"I can't see it." He strains forward, his eyes just as squinty as the chameleon.
I chuckle and turn away from him, still trying to read it.
"C'mon, I can't be that boring," his voice is right beside me now. "A book beats me, huh?"
"Huh?"
He's at my shoulder now with his calloused hand held out; I hardly even noticed him move.
"Can I see it?"
"Grr, okay," I hand him my beloved book, watching his veiny hands quickly flip through the pages.
"Who wrote this? The name is rubbed off the cover," he recoils in confusion, his face all twisted. He stumbles on his feet and~
"Hey!" I yip, grabbing him by the cuff of his jacket. "Don't drop that in the fire, ya hear?"
"Yeah, yeah," he sloppily waves his hand in dismissal. "Ha," he smirks, "I know you don't want to, but can you let go?"
"I know you don't want to, he says." I release him and snatch the book out of his hands. "This book is important to me, okay?"
He nods, then silently takes another swig from his flask and decides to sit in the chair right beside me.

I try to read again, but his presence is intense, as though he's got something important to say to me but he's got it all bottled up inside. Well, with that sentiment, I guess his bottle is leaking.
I can't help but look up.
He's staring at me with a deadpan expression.
"What."
"Forget it," he quickly looks away.
"What?" I push.
A restless flame burns inside me and now the warmth of the campfire starts to feel a little hotter; I don't think I can handle this tension anymore.
"Okay." I hear his voice waver. "I'm tired of lying..." he looks up at me with a determined, yet conflicted expression. "Maybe one day I'll set my priorities straight," he mutters under his breath.
I lean back and listen with an empty mind, the book nuzzled to my breast.
"I just... I've always thought there was something special about you... and I don't know," he sounds frustrated with himself. "But you never thought the same of me..."
My heart starts to beat faster with each uncertain second that passes by.
Doesn't he hate me...? Don't... Don't I hate him?
"Just... just," fermented words sit at the tip of his tongue. "Just forget it,"  he finally decides to cut them out. He takes a long drink from his flask, drowning himself in alcohol and moves before I can even respond. 
"MacCready!" I call out after him, my heart jumping with my voice. "Wait!"
His silhouette turns around but his compass is set to Bea's.
I could let him go, or, I could get to the bottom of his feelings and in turn, my own.
His shape is lost to the shadows of the town, and I stand here with my book; undecided and bothered.

I barge into Bea's; it's quiet tonight. The fairy lights twinkle peacefully above the bar and Simon looks at me with a certain confusion.
"What's wrong, doll?" he laughs and turns to the bar, grabbing me a glass of red wine.
"No, no~ I'm not here for a drink." I wave my hand in dismissal, my eyes landing on the empty barstools.
Except for one.
"What brought you here then? Didja come to see me?" Simon croaks, idle with an empty glass in his blistered hands.
MacCready turns around, and he looks a hell of a lot drunker than he was half an hour ago.
"Hmph," he turns away, arching his shoulders like an insecure teenager.
I idle, trying to figure out the best course of action while simultaneously sorting through my feelings.
"Yeah actually," I make eye contact with Simon's beady black eyes and sit down beside MacCready; the tension is palpable. "Also, I changed my mind; pour me a glass."
Glug, glug, glug.
He spins around and places the blood red wine on the freshly cleaned counter.
"Beautiful." I take a sip and swivel towards MacCready.
He looks up at me with drowsy puppy eyes.
I need to talk to him.
"So MacCready, I can't help but wonder how you feel~" I pause.
There are butterflies in my stomach.
"...how you feel about the sick people staying on the houseboat," I foolishly dodge my true intentions and take another sip, this time, taking the time to truly enjoy the bittersweet taste of the wine.
He exhales; I don't know how he managed to make it sound both relieved and pained.
"I dunno. I~" he pauses, "I don't care for them, I don't like them, so I'd rather just forget about them."
"Fair enough," Simon interjects as he wipes the counter to clean bare bones. "But," his voice breaks, "Vault-tech didn't care about me, and now look at me. I was forgotten for 200 years, scrounging around the commonwealth, suffering... struggling... somehow... I kept myself alive."
"That's different, Simon." MacCready barks, "You weren't contagiously sick like that... you... you~ that's different."
Simon twitches.
"...all I'm saying is, apathy ain't the best solution. If people had shown some care in the first place those bombs never would've dropped, and I wouldn't have led this... unnatural existence."
"Well," I interject, "you're here now, no matter how unnatural, and you're appreciated. All your struggles to get here had meaning!" I reach out to him in spirit.
"Yeah, it's easy for you to say that," Simon bitterly responds, turning away from me and staring at his mutated skin with that longing expression I often catch him wearing.
I look down with a gross feeling in my heart; I don't know what to say.
"I hear you..." Is all I can muster.
The three of us awkwardly sit in each others company. The vast isolation of experience makes me uncomfortable... I feel like every word that comes out of my mouth will be misconstrued and the tone will become condescending.
The silence intensifies.
"Okay," MacCready breaks the spell, sloppily getting up. He holds his flask out towards Simon with a drunken leer. "I'm gonna need some for the walk back to my apartment."
I drain my wine as Simon fills MacCready's flask with straight whiskey.
"I'm gonna head out too," I slide the empty glass towards him. "Thanks for everything;  I'll see you tomorrow."
Simon picks up the glass and looks at both of us with a lonely expression.
"Okay. Catch you later, kids."