A Window to the Past

The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. The sight of sun-dappled trees and lucent sky was so unexpected, that for a moment Fey forgot she was running for her life. Her foot snagged on a lip of cracked marble and the ground rose to meet her. She fell with an echoing, teeth-rattling crash.

“Over here!” cried a distant voice. “I heard something!”

The contents of Fey’s makeshift bag – a tattered and sun-bleached pillowcase – rolled in wobbling circles across the floor. She swore under her breath and shoved as much as she could back inside, the pulsing ache of her knees forgotten as the thunder of footsteps grew louder behind her.

She had lost them amongst the labyrinthine halls, only to find herself in yet another gloomy, high-ceilinged room. Had she crossed through here before? Fey flung the pillowcase over her shoulder and scrambled to her feet. Wild, whooping cries were echoing behind her. Closing in. She scanned the room for an exit like a cornered animal and bit back a scream.

There were tall figures lurking in the shadows all around her.

Fey froze, her heart bashing against her ribcage. It was a moment before her eyes made sense of what she was seeing. She let out a shaky breath.

At the same time, two men burst into the room. Their footsteps slowed as they took in the cathedral-like space before them. Crumbling piles of rubble and toppled display cases formed hunched shadows beneath an ornate domed ceiling. The room before them was windowless, its corners an impermeable pool of black.

One of the men jumped as he detected a human outline in the dark.

“Statues,” he said with a shaky laugh.

His companion’s voice was distinctly humorless. “They could be anywhere. We should have blocked all the exits.”

“Not enough of us left, is there?”

Mere feet away, Fey huddled against the stone plinth of a statue with the pillowcase clutched to her stomach. She fought to control her heaving chest, but her breath was coming in ragged gasps, traitorously loud in the quiet space.

Calm down, she thought desperately. You need to calm down or they’ll hear you…

The clink and clatter of rubble told her the men were prowling nearby. Any second now, she expected to feel a vice-like grip on the back of her neck.

Focusing on her breathing was no help. Her wide eyes latched onto the window before her. The one in the boy’s room. Her hiding spot was positioned at an angle to that small, sunny portal.

Even as waves of panic crashed over her, Fey found herself distracted by the kaleidoscopic shades of blue sky on the other side of the glass. She could almost feel the whisper of a breeze across her skin as she stared into its depths, and – as her gaze lowered – the soft brush of grass beneath her feet, dew-laced and warm from basking in the sun all day. It was lovely outside. A world of green and gold shadows. She even saw, beneath a canopy of dazzling emerald leaves, a cluster of parkgoers weaving lazy circles around the trees, young and old and ethereally peaceful.

Crash!

Fey flinched.

“Dirty thief!” cried a growling voice. One of the men grunted as he shoved at another statue. There was a scraping sound, then a second stone body smashed against the floor. Plumes of dust rose in frenzied clouds overhead.

Fey did not know what would happen if she was caught, but she had a feeling she would fare no better than the statues. She shrank back against the plinth, sweat beading her brow. If she was honest with herself, she had never expected her plan to fail. Not like this. Not if she had a good reason for being here.

The idea had fallen into her head only yesterday, when she and Matti had spied on the strangers camping in the abandoned city. The newcomers had started a roaring bonfire in the square, looting furniture from the surrounding buildings to fuel the flames.

Travelers were a rare sight. Few families had remained behind, setting up camp in the shadows of dilapidated high-rises. Fey and Matti had been born and raised in the outskirts of the city. They had crept up to the edge of camp and watched with a hungry curiosity. After a lifetime of limited company, it was a marvel to hear voices other than their own.

“There’s so many of them!” Matti had whispered. He was only six – nearly a decade younger than Fey – and small for his age. Malnourished. He had been born after the world died. When they had taken too much, and the Earth broke under the weight of their demands.

Fey had stared at Matti’s emaciated frame, and when her eyes flickered back to the fire, it was with one thought in mind: a group this big must travel with a decent amount of food.

Now, Fey reached into the bulging pillowcase and withdrew one of her stolen rations: a wrinkled apple. She closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. It was Matti she thought of as she rose silently to her feet and took aim. Before she could convince herself otherwise, Fey pulled back her arm, and flung the apple.

It bounced across the tile floor. In the stillness the noise was like cannon fire. Twin shouts of surprise rose from the men. They were racing in her direction. Whether they saw her or were merely chasing the sound, Fey was not certain. She was bracing herself against the polished stone of the statue. She could feel it trembling with the pounding footsteps of her pursuers as they picked up speed.

Almost there…almost…now!

With an almighty shove, Fey tipped the statue forward. The air was rent with an inhuman howling. The two men disappeared beneath a pile of collapsing rubble. Fey ducked as fragmented stone exploded against the floor and the air filled with a chalky dust.

Coughing and sputtering, she ran back to retrieve the pillowcase full of stolen food. Enough to last them a month – maybe more. Had Matti ever tried chocolate before? There had been an entire stack of candy bars in the museum gift shop the campers had converted into a temporary storeroom.

But she wasn’t done yet. With a hasty glance at the toppled statue, Fey withdrew her pocketknife and darted over to the painting she had admired earlier. The one depicting a boy staring out a sunny window into the park below. She ran her fingers over the dusty canvas and sank the blade along the edges of the little window. When she stepped back, the boy in the painting now stared out an abstract rectangle instead of a window. Well, if their world was stolen, his could be too.

Fey stared at the canvas strip in her hands before tucking it safely into her pocket. She would show it to Matti last.

A perfect slice of happier times.

A world they hoped to rebuild.

***