Found Memories

It's been 15 years. By all accounts, I shouldn't have survived. Sometimes I can't believe I did. Maybe this is actually Hell, and it's just designed to feel like real life to better torture me. Who knows. I don't even know why I'm writing this, since I don't expect anyone to ever read it. The few people I encounter can't read. And anyway, anyone who reads this would know all this anyhow. I guess I just want to make a record, like they did in the time before.

Everyone alive on Earth right now is 25 years old or younger. The stories of what happened are varied and colorful, and few agree. Most can't even remember the truth because they were too young. I'm one of those. What the stories all have in common is that beings from the sky showed up one day and killed everyone 11 years and older. No warning, no negotiating. Just giant metal ships descending from the stars all around the world and BAM. We call it "The Culling". No one can remember the reason why, though the stories say there was some sort of broadcast explaining their actions. Every story gives a different reason for the death of billions of humans. In reality, it doesn't truly matter whether they did it to save humanity because of over population, whether they thought killing everyone over a certain age would destroy humanity anyway, or whether they spared us because their society has ethics that don't allow the murder of children. The end result is the same.

The older kids, the ones who were already in school, didn't handle losing the rest of the world so well. That's why so few of us can read or write. They tried to continue for awhile doing the things they had already learned to do to take care of themselves, but when the electricity grid finally gave out because the adults weren’t there to maintain it, they had a collective panic attack. About half went into a rapid spiral of depression and committed suicide in various spectacular ways within 2 weeks of The Culling. Another quarter went psychotic. They took their anger and frustration out on each other and slaughtered anyone they encountered. Not many of those are left, but the rest of us avoid their territory.

The last quarter had younger siblings to take care of, which kept them more sane. These are the ones who made it to adulthood and lead their communities. Though, there aren't many of those. The "dark years", the first 5 after The Culling, taught us to fear other humans. It was straight up chaos. I mean, we were KIDS for crying out loud! Kids need adults to take care of them! Without adults, and nearly every single child left on the planet having yet to go through puberty, very few had any clue as to how to take care of themselves, let alone the babies and toddlers. Not many of the ones without older kids to feed them and change their diapers survived. My home is a short hike from this crumbling cement building with the words “Public Library” on the side. There is every kind of book you could imagine inside. I read one once called “Lord of the Flies” by William Golding. It’s about these boys stranded on an island and how they end up practically tearing each other apart. Reading it felt like this Golding guy had some sort of weird ability to see the future, since that’s pretty much what the dark years were like. The existence we have now, which I wouldn’t call peace, is only possible because everyone finally learned that large groups of people together meant savagery and paranoia and death. Which is why the few communities that exist are small and considered unsafe. At least we didn’t have to deal with any dead bodies. They were vaporized in The Culling. I can’t imagine how much worse things would have been if we’d had decomposing flesh everywhere during the dark years.

I see pictures in the books I used to teach myself to read that look nothing like the world I grew up in. Blue skies, green grass, huge straight trees, and sprawling cities. My reality is brown skies, vast wastelands, and broken skeletons of glass and metal. There is rarely any rain, and when the rain DOES come you had better not be standing outside or you risk getting burning blisters all over your body. There are twisted, stunted trees here and there, and scrubby growth on the ground. The burning rain hurts them, too, but not as much as it hurts human flesh. I wouldn't call them "green"; it's more like tan got sick and is about to puke.

There apparently used to be a river where I live. I’ve seen pictures, and the signs that read “Willamette River” are still here. It was big, and long, and people played in it in the summer. I’ve never seen a river before, but I like to imagine the paddle boat that would take people leisurely up and down the river with the water sparkling underneath. I wish I could have seen the thing called a “splash pad” where water would shoot up from a concrete space and children would run in it and play. There used to be one in the park by the river. The bridge that connected the two sides is still here, kind of, but the only memory of the park is a few metal tube structures that I assume used to be the playground. Now the only evidence of the river are the stone and metal bones left behind by the adults, and the scooped-out trail that extends forever in a winding valley from north to south.

I’ve seen signs nearby that say that the ocean should be less than 60 miles from here. I found huge books with bright pictures inside of water as far as the eye can see. There are pages with tunnels of water that someone is inside of, standing on a colorful piece of wood. Other books show hundreds of weird creatures that actually LIVED in the water. The Culling, however it happened, caused most of the water on the planet to evaporate, though, so when I decided to try to find the ocean the signs talked about I found only desert. There was what the books called a “beach”, but then there were cliffs that dropped off to a deep rocky valley that was littered with the bones of the fish in the pictures. There was no water. I collapsed on the sand on the edge of the cliff and cried massive tears when I saw it. I guess I’d let the pictures give me hope. I was 10. I haven’t hoped for anything in the 7 years since.

At least the golden man that stood on the top of a huge stone building not far from here is still there. He’s not on the building, since the building crumbled a few years ago. But somehow he stayed standing, right smack dab in the middle of the rubble. It’s the one pretty thing I see everyday, besides the occasional rose. There used to be thousands of rose bushes that grew here. Now there are only a few. I've made my home under the part of the bridge that's still standing, next to the only rose bush within 5 miles. The smell in the summer is like heaven and the petals are this interesting mix between soft pink and coral. It's kind of scraggly, and only blooms for about 2 months of the year. But it's mine.

Sometimes I find myself staring at the sunset, wondering if the purples and greens are anything like what people saw in the time before. I know the pictures show oranges and reds, and stories say that, too. I have a hard time believing such vibrant colors happened on this nasty planet. I have a hard time believing anything in my books is real. I was 2 when The Culling happened. I have no memory of life before. Sometimes I see this as a blessing. No memory of what to miss, or to compare this life to. Other days I see it as a curse. A void where I should have a mom and dad to grieve and miss. Today it's a blessing.

Today I found something that would have crushed me if I could remember. I was hunting for food and came across a tumble-down wood structure that felt really familiar. I figured there might be something worth salvaging inside, and that’s when I found it. It was in a broken box lying on the floor of a room with a crib and stuffed animals that were covered in dirt and cobwebs. It's something that was called a "locket". I looked it up in one of my books so I would know what to call it. Apparently it was something that parents gave to children or lovers gave to one another with the gifter’s picture inside so the receiver wouldn’t forget they were loved. I know it's mine because it has my name carved into the back of it. I assume it was a gift from the people pictured inside, whom I instinctively knew to be my parents even before I learned what it was. They must have loved me a lot to give me something so beautiful and to have my name carved into its smooth metal back. It's a pretty pinkish-gold metal heart, almost the same color as my roses. The front has intricate flowers carved into it, making it look like metal lace. The chain is as delicate as it is strong, like a spider silk thread. It's the same color metal as the locket. It is by far the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Inside are faces, one on each side. I get the strangest feeling when I look at them. One is a woman who actually looks a lot like me. She has the same blue eyes with the dark ring around the edge, the same crooked smile that seems to ask if it’s even ok to smile. The other, the man, isn’t handsome in the way most people think of handsome, but there’s something magnetic about his face. He has dark brown hair, almost black. His eyes are a crystal blue like mine, but they don’t have the dark ring. His mischievous grin tells me he loved to joke and play. I feel this sense of calm and safety when I look at them. It’s a feeling I’ve never had before. A feeling of connection, a warm fuzzy feeling. I assume it’s… love.

I guess that’s really why I’m writing this. Maybe, deep down, I’m hoping you will come along and read it. Then maybe I can be connected to someone else in this crazy, nasty, deadly world. Because I’m so very lonely. I’ve been completely alone since the dark years. I had to learn to defend myself, find food, find or make clothing, and do every other thing for myself. Since I was 2. Yeah, there were other kids who were older than me that I followed from time to time, but every one of them turned savage and betrayed my trust at one point or another. I’m so tired. Tired of being alone, of having no reason to exist beyond survival. Tired of trying to find any beauty in life. I’m so ready to just let go and be done with trying.

But then, I look at the faces in the locket. I see their eyes, their smiles. I can feel the love they had for each other and for me.

And I know.

I know that they would want me to keep fighting. To keep surviving.

Because maybe one day, if I’m lucky, maybe one day… I’ll find… You.

And then I won't have to fight alone anymore.