Garden of the Hungry

Epilogue

As a perfectly tuned machine, life went on with its usual avidity; vehicles permeated the avenues, to expel pollutants and noise between squeezed and daring passersby in their personal journeys.

Amid the beating of the alleys, a woman with fiery hair, a wide-brimmed hat and a padded over-all, carrying a guitar case, crossed a gallery of electronics, but stopped abruptly against a cluster of people who watched the biggest TV monitor. On the screen, a lady of serene appearance debated with a news presenter:

"...that's why I think the unrest before such obscure facts is natural, but the paranoia about aliens is completely unrealistic, my friend," she adjusted her glasses on her small nose. "An attack by alien creatures? It's laughable!"

"But there are at least intriguing videos that link the presence of things flying over the site of the incident," the anchor challenged. "The contents are on the internet for everyone to see!"

A parallel link opened during the debate and showed a shaky recording, with just over thirty seconds. In the images, several black points zigzagged in the sky like a swarm, skirted a tower and disappeared behind the big city buildings.

"Clearly false!" The woman broke. "Two experts in the field have confirmed the non-authenticity of these scenes and others," she didn't contain her laughter. "Today there are softwares that produce far more credible montages."

"And why would the victims fabricate something like this?"

"Well, if the material has been uploaded by true survivors of the incident, which I doubt very much, I could diagnose post-traumatic stress, distortion, omission of facts retracing the real memories, longing for attention on social networks..." She hesitated before continuing and changed the tone, "or perhaps a smokescreen to cover up a possible government involvement in the event. After all, there are dozens of citizens who confirmed the presence of war vehicles nearby. Why these people were not interviewed?"

"The government has put the city in quarantine," elucidated the presenter.

"That sounds very opportune! There are discussion threads on the net that claim the enigmatic Nightly Massacre was a terrorist attack involving biological weapons. Others insist it was an accidental leak of the armed forces themselves," she faced the camera. "We lived the greatest tragedy in the history of our country and the silence of the authorities is at least intriguing because..."

Amiel lowered her hat over the forehead and went down the street adorned with stone walls. She crossed a garden and within minutes reached a park embraced by a crystal clear lake.

Children closely watched by parents who risked steps in the freezing water, couples lying on the grass curled in warm hugs to ward off the cold, elders played chess, others threw crumbs of bread to ducks, and bicycles crossed the arc-shaped bike path.

Snowflakes fell subtly and people responded with joy. In the weeks that followed the end of the cataclysms, the act of returning to the streets became a kind of renewal rite, and every natural climate demonstration was celebrated.

Sitting on a printed towel on the slope that led to the pier, Dave spilled the contents of a hot cup. Between a drink and another, he looked at the redhead approaching impassively, sitting next to him and setting the instrument case on the floor.

"You can't play the guitar."

"And you don't eat that many fruits," she lifted the lid of one of the baskets and identified the bear mask inside.

"You got me!"

"You got me!" Amiel winked and opened the case, revealing the unique brilliance of the Black Key and the beak of her mask.