Tears and Dust

For the first time in longer than I can remember, I am looking at his face with my own eyes. It lasts for only a moment before the prickling wave of emotion grips my throat and blurs my vision as tears gush forth unhindered. My body starts to tremble within the coarse fabric of my strafe suit, and I sink to my knees in the dust. Great pulses of long suppressed memories wrack my body with sobs as overwhelming sorrow, mixed with inexplicable joy, struggles to break free. I feel my eyelashes catch as I try to blink, unseeing, through the flood of tears. I let myself go, rolling onto my side and surrendering to the unstoppable tide of grief, the catalyst of my pain still clutched in my gloved hand.

The sky is streaked with brilliant shades of purple, gold, and crimson when I step from the doorway of my house. Well, it’s more of a hut really, but it is home to me. I stop at the end of the makeshift cobble path that leads from my door and turn around to watch the orange light from the sun caress the side of my house and the grassy hill beyond. It casts cool blue shadows that lengthen slowly as the sun slips below the sea; and it makes me wish, as it always does, that flowers still grew to smile back up at the colorful light. I am the only one in my village who has ever seen a flower, and it was when I was a very young girl. All I remember is that it was the same lavender color of clouds at twilight and smelled sweeter than anything I have ever since experienced. I turn back, adjust my grip on the strap of the pack slung over my shoulder, and set off into the gathering darkness away from my village.

We call it Nome, our village. Not sure why, though I know it is a very old name. I have always wondered if it goes back as far as before the shift. Of course, if there was a Nome in those days its real location was probably swallowed up by the rising ocean a thousand years ago. My village sits above a small rocky ocean inlet and is home to only a few people, most of whom are like me; stubborn old fishermen who don’t have enough years left to bother fleeing the heat, and/or those who have something or someone they refuse to leave behind. There aren’t many people anywhere who live this far south anymore, not enough rain to grow anything, and not enough sea life to sustain a large population, not to mention the terrible scorching climate. It was not long after I was born that the most recent heat wave hit, and most folks either died off or moved north of the arctic circle, a slowly shrinking haven for life. In any case, it’s been a very long time since anyone lived where I am now headed, further south.

This is a journey I have made countless times before, and so my feet carry me onward of their own volition. I make my way down to the coast, turn and follow it along as it stretches out to the east. The treeless, dusty landscape ends in short washed-out cliffs that have eroded away leaving a rocky, debris riddled shore below. Black waves lap gently against the slimy odd angles of the rocks, reflecting the silver light of the moon. I inhale the salt air, and settle into my stride, hardly even noticing the pack across my shoulders. The air is not cool, yet it is a good deal more pleasant than the ravaging heat of the day and so the respite feels good. I always travel at night for this reason, in fact the further south one gets, it starts to become deadly to even be outside during the day. I have seen far too many people die in front of me from heat stroke to risk daytime travel. My heart sinks a bit, and I forget the invigorating scent of the sea as I accidentally remind myself of the sorrow my journey carries with it. I sigh and carry on. So many years of endured heartache have strangled the hope from my heart till I’m left with a stoic acceptance. Not unfeeling, not uncaring, and not bitter, yet very much resigned and made heavy by the iron grip of time.

I awake two days later in the darkness of a cave. It is one of the stops I make along my way and has a stream at the back for fresh water. I gather up my things, don my strafe suite, and exit to the view of dazzling colors streaking across the shadowy sky and sparkling off the gently rolling waves of the sound. The wind is blowing a deliciously cool breeze off the ocean, and it whips my long white hair away from my face. All at once I feel strengthened, and a sense of solemn nobility descends over me. I do not have far to go now before I reach my destination, and I am feeling refreshed from my day of sleep, setting off with renewed vigor despite the knowledge that I grow ever nearer the beating heart of my grief. I am traveling south again now, continuing to follow the shoreline as it begins to curve back in upon itself. The stars are bright and mesmerizing as they watch over my path through the cloudless night sky. I glimpse a solitary shooting star as it burns it its trajectory into the tapestry above and disappears behind the dark silhouette of the barren mountains to my left.

It is close to midnight now and the gradually increasing familiarity of my surroundings bring back a flood of memories from the distant, habitually suppressed, reaches of my mind. I crest a rise and see the place before me. It is a peaceful place, a small valley nestled between low, dune-like hills. It opens onto a cove that is sheltered from the harsher weather rolling in from the sea by the hills on either side that morph into rocky battlements and reach out like maternal arms to shield the valley within. I admire the grandeur of the view for a long moment, then my eyes sweep back over the gradual slope up from the beach. There are bits of old, wind worn wood, and crumbling bits of metal protruding from the dusty ground. And finally, my eyes come to rest on the distant gravestone. I heave a sigh, the long-suffered sorrow no longer bringing tears with its familiar gnawing ache, and I head down the slope into the valley.

The dry silty soil is soft underfoot and is blown away from me in delicate swirls by the sea air now at my back. I walk with heavy feet up to the smooth, oblong stone placed upright in the earth, and come to a stop just in front of it. Leaning over, I extend a gloved hand over the gravestone and wipe the dust from the inscription carved in its time-worn surface. A pang of unfathomable loss shoots through my heart as I look upon the name of my husband. He was only twenty-eight when he died, protecting me from marauders. The scenes of that day so long-ago flash through my mind, forcing the agony to wash over me anew. I see flames, and blood, and shadowy figures. I feel that same horror as, after killing every last one of the mutant scum that had attacked our village and torched our home, my husband collapses in my arms, his blood hot in my lap. I see his face look up at me, covered in sweat and blood, and yet peaceful in death. There was no fear in his eyes, only love. Then I see the moment, forever ingrained in my memory, when breath escaped his lips for the last time and the light in his eyes faded away. And I feel the emptiness as something inside me shattered and died with him. Leaving two shells of people kneeling in the dust and blood, surrounded by flames.

I straighten up, tears rolling slowly down my wrinkled cheeks, salty as the sea air that blows them into the dust at my feet. Sometimes I stay here with my husband for hours, reliving parts of the life we had together, and staring up at the stars till the first hints of pink caress the horizon. Tonight however, being here just makes me feel more profoundly alone than ever. I become aware with crushing weight of the immensity of the world around me, and feel simultaneously lost in my own insignificance, and exposed like I’ve been thrown naked into the middle of an arena. I let my eyes linger a moment longer on the grave of my love and then, as I turn to leave, my foot strikes something buried in the dust just below the surface.

The faint starlight reflected up at me as though through a cloudy mirror is the only thing that catches my attention. Something in my gut makes me stop, and I stoop to dig the object from the earth. It looks like a bit of metal that was probably once polished but has long since been obscured by weathering and corrosion, and it feels small and curved in my hand as I pull it from the dust. It is a locket in the shape of a heart. The chain is gone, and the clasp appears to be almost fused shut. I hardly notice any of these details however because my brain has slowed to a crawl, unwilling to hope, and unable to process what I am seeing. I pry the locket open, and the thing I somehow knew the moment my foot brushed it is confirmed. Its my locket. The inside of the locket is almost pristine, protected from the elements by the now crumbled latch which sealed it shut, and inside is an image of my husband and an inscription. “My love, no matter what world we may find ourselves in I will always be right here with you.” I look upon his face, frozen in a moment of joy, and a lifetime of anguish breaks forth.

I lie in the dust, a short distance from the grave of the man I love, clutching the heart shaped locket and his image in my hand, drowning in my tears. For what seems like years I lie there eyes shut tight against the pain, heartbreak seizing my chest and ripping it apart. And then, after time untold, I open my eyes. I blink back my tears that have soaked into the dry greedy dust, leaving my face caked with mud, and sit up. My pain is not gone, if I’m honest with myself it never really leaves, but now I feel love as well. A powerful sense of hope and gratitude swells within my chest as I remember my husband’s sacrifice once again. This is not the first time I have felt grief this strong, and it probably won’t be the last time. I get to my feet, and once more feel the sea breeze kiss my face, I feel the salt on my tongue as I shakily fill my lungs. I clutch the locket to my heart, and my eyes fill with tears once more, though this time from nothing I can put my finger on. It’s as if I’m filled with grief and struck deeply with unstoppable love at the same time, and it’s too much to contain. And that’s okay. I turn and walk away, once more leaving the land of the dead and returning to that of the living, sprinkling the dust with my tears as I go.