Ruin

On the day that you came, the mist at first light lay heavily on the surface of the sea, an edgeless barrier of rose, lilac and emerald swirls that forged secrets between the mouth of the cave and the world far beyond. Where it lapped and bunted against the rock, water formed in the glacier scars and weather-beaten boils, before dropping in a slow shower onto my shoulders, the tops of my toes and the floor of the hollow.

On some mornings the sea eagles plummet down from their nest high above me, before soaring up again on the offshore gusts that race in from the water and up over the land. On some mornings the grey seals who laze in great slate tangles on the flat rocks further around the headland, bob their snouts in and out of the waves, before diving deep to snatch squid and herring from the incoming tide. On some mornings when the wind is up, the spray from the waves that smash relentlessly against the cliffs is blown all the way up to the cave, spritzing my cheeks and lips with salted blasts that tighten on my skin as they dry. But not this morning. On this morning the mist at first light lay heavily on the surface of the sea, an edgeless barrier of rose, lilac and emerald swirls waiting to fade.

When it had cleared, I checked the cables from the solar panels to the rig, and from the rig across the old pastures to the mast that snakes in and out of the rock on the eastern crag. Five miles of cable altogether and a full mornings work to check every junction and inspection point. I worked into the afternoon labelling jars, sorting maps and updating the inventory of supplies.

In daylight hours — almost continuous in the summer months — I'm mindful of the drones that drift endlessly overhead in a low, lazy orbit, taking time and location stamped pictures and streaming them back to the watching eyes and paranoid minds where you are. The rock ledges, sun shadows and caves all work with me to hide my home from their gaze. The driftwood and branches I drape and stitch around myself add another cloak of invisibility. I've been filmed once or twice, so now I hack in and raid the servers after every excursion just in case, to erase anything that might betray me. A foot. An unusually long shadow. Even the innocent shrubs and wildlife that might look like a person when the light catches them strangely. I erase them all.

In the early years, the mast was strapped to the watchtower of the ruin, but the signal wasn't so good there — too much interference from the hills and forests — and it's obvious location attracted a steady stream of mercenaries sent from your home. Their visits were perversely welcome, providing an adrenaline jolt from the routine of life here, but the risks were too great, and I tired of revenge in the end. As their faces grew younger, or perhaps just as the vacuum of life between us yawned wider, I felt increasingly uncomfortable slicing and thumping my rage into their young bodies. Casting them into the sea.

The mercenaries are almost always from the slums. Their hands rough from farming the old parks and verges, or digging through the concrete to find enough viable soil to grow a little food. Their young faces strangely aged by hunger and sacrifice, their bodies scaled and pockmarked by the pollution and disease that ravages those less fortunate than you. You and your friends with still beautiful skin, moisturised and nourished in the shrinking bubbles of comfort that remain. Safe inside the perfected worlds of plenty, engineered, enhanced and inoculated. Quarantined from the failures of our nature, as everything outside goes to shit.

It sounds like I'm judging you, blaming you for what happened. I'm not. Not like you blame me.

It was the festival that clinched it. You probably don't even remember it now. Before all this, when everything seemed normal. When people worked all week and played at the weekend. When we laughed together often. In the summer sunshine we drifted from tent to tent, even holding hands sometimes, feeling the sun burn down onto our shoulders as the music thudded and swirled around us. As we cruised I glanced outwards at the faces around us, laughing and talking, posing and fronting, gorging, wasting and abusing. I knew then, that one day it would come to this. I wanted to fall on my knees and weep, but I danced with you instead.