Heart-shaped Hopelessness

Heart-shaped Hopelessness

Nothing but ash. Can’t breathe. Can’t see. What was once a beautiful, thriving city, is now a barren wasteland. It’s been two years, 121 days, and this morning. How we’ve survived, I’ll never know. Lying on this cold concrete deep inside the inner-city water drainage system is the only place to call home. Hearing the soft breathing and whimsical, dream-filled whispers of Aaron and Joan lulls me into deep thought about what the day holds. So much to do and not much time to get everything accomplished. I am by no means “mom material”, but since the warheads hit, my youth had been stripped away; now my primary focus were my younger brother and sister’s future. The sun is just now breaking dawn and I must make a food and supply run while the ash-filled smog is at its thinnest.

Looking at Joan cuddling one of the only remnants of home she has left; a one-eyed unicorn stained with mud and wet ash, the unicorn’s horn nearly detached, and the rainbow colors of the mane and tail fading away. I hoped I could find her a new one on my run. Watching her squeeze what’s left of the memories of home, I think what her seven-year-old mind could possibly be dreaming about, but her brief smiles while she was asleep, made me think that she was dreaming of being back home with our parents. A time that all of us as children, protected and provided for, took advantage of. We were spoiled, didn’t want for anything, but somehow just wasn’t good enough. It didn’t matter how hard our parents worked, what we had was never enough. What I would give to be able to turn back time. What I would give to see my parents again and feel their embrace. What I would give to see my siblings growing up into the happy, dream-filled future we only thought would last forever.

It’s getting later into the morning, and I’ve got to make this run. We’re out of food and desperately need water, medical supplies, blankets, more clothes, and some gear to navigate through the tunnels in an attempt to locate other living souls. We haven’t seen any signs of life for months. The last time we heard or saw anyone, we had to stay hidden. A group of reckless young men, in their early twenties maybe, were breaking store windows, looting unusable electronics and sports memorabilia, and beat a homeless guy unconscious because he wouldn’t give them a nutria-grain bar. All I could think at the time was, “Look at these idiots?!”, while “my” little ones were crying, terrified, and huddling so close together, it was a miracle they could breathe.

Packing my backpack from school, when there was school, I realized we only had a few matches left, two packages of stale peanut butter crackers, and the last can of baked beans. God, I hated baked beans. That’s all we have been able to eat since the last run; thinking of the sweet taste and smell, makes me want to vomit. I’ve got to travel a little further today. Resources are spread thin at all of the nearby convenience stores and the small market on the corner a couple of blocks away. I’m going to travel west and see if the Dollar General, A Dime A Dozen Thrift Shop, and Save-A-Lot has to offer. These precious kids will be awake soon and they will want something for breakfast; I’ve got to hurry before they wake. Luckily, Aaron, has been a godsend with our little sister. He can keep her occupied for as long as it takes, when necessary. I couldn’t be prouder of the kid he is and at the young age of thirteen. At thirteen, I was more worried about my friends, what movie was playing in theatres, and if my crush ever liked me like I liked him. Now, I’m approaching my nineteenth birthday. I was barely sixteen when the war with Russia and China began. Nuclear warheads ravaged our home and our country. The closest warhead hit just outside of the city, about twenty miles out. What remains of St. Louis, is anything but survivable, but here we are. I’ve never been a religious person, but maybe our parents or even God, is watching over us.

I kiss the kids’ foreheads, leave a note written on wet cardboard with mud, and leave behind the two packages of crackers, just in case. I’ve got my backpack ready, goggles on, and bandana covering my mouth and nose. It’s time to go. It’s the strangest feeling clinging to hope when there is none, but Aaron and Joan keep me driven and focused. All I want is to find the “honey hole” of food and supplies. Maybe surprise them with something delicious, a deck of cards, or maybe even some actual toilet paper. Here goes nothing.

I rise out of the manhole and notice the ash and smog was unusually clear today. You would think after nearly three years, the air would be clear and breathable by now. “Maybe it’s finally happening?! Maybe we won’t have to continue looking like the crackheads that used to sit outside the shelters and bus stops downtown,” I thought to myself. We’re all filthy, starving, losing our sanity, and dressed in whatever clothes we could find. “Here I go again….with the hopelessness and despair. I’ve got to get in a better frame of mind, for their sake,” I thought.

Walking down this street, headed west, all I can think of is what I’m going to be able to find. Cautiously making my way to my first destination, hiding behind the store’s dumpster, scanning the area for life and potential threats, this Save-A-Lot looks to be in fair condition. “Hopefully, I’ve hit the jackpot,” I thought to myself as I slowly approached the building. I walk in and it’s not what I hoped it would be. It’s better! The fact that the building is still standing is a blessing in itself; well, besides the roof caved in and falling apart. “There’s still snacks here,” I excitedly thought as I began grabbing all the snack cakes and packaged powdered donuts I could find. I snatched a roll of paper towels behind the counter, batteries for our lantern that were scattered on the floor, and a box of matches that were beside the tobacco cabinet. Most of the aisles were bare, but I found three triple XL cotton t-shirts that won’t fit any of us, but we could use them for bandages, blankets, pillows, or maybe even make a make-shift bag out of one of them. I stuff the t-shirts in my backpack and the corner of a package from under the shelving on the floor beside my feet caught my eye. I grab the package and to my surprise, IT WAS SOCKS! “Thank God,” I whispered. All three of us have holes in our socks, some pretty gnarly athlete’s feet, and the material is so thin, they lack the ability to hold any measure of warmth. “Not much here, but I’m glad I found something at the very least,” I said to myself. As I walked to leave the store, I noticed money from the register, spread all over the floor. All I could think about was how worthless money was and how much we took our parents’ hard-earned living for granted. Always wanting more “stuff”, asking for money, and occasionally throwing fits when we were told, “No.” I wish I could take all of that back. In hindsight, we were jerks to our parents. We weren’t a rich family, but we weren’t poor either. We lived a nice, comfortable life in the suburbs, in a large-sized brick home, our schools were within walking distance, and most of our neighbors had kids around the same age. Reminiscing the good times we had, before all of this, reminds me to hurry and move on to the next location. There was still much to be done and the sun had risen to at least mid-morning. Dollar General, here I come! The Dollar General was another two blocks away. “I’ve seriously got to get moving,” giving myself a pep talk.

Hiding next to the front fender of an old beat-up truck, I had the store in my sights. Half the building had been blown away. “Well, this doesn’t look too promising,” I said out loud. Still, no one in sight, I made my way inside the store through a massive hole in the side of the building. Right away, I saw bottles of rubbing alcohol and a box of band-aids. In the middle of the floor was a canister of Pringles. On the opposite side of the store on an endcap of an aisle, I SAW A PILLOW! I could hardly believe what I was seeing! “That’s definitely going with me,” I whispered. I found a bottle of Dawn hand soap, two cans of spaghetti O’s, and four bottles of water. The only items left were home décor, some light bulbs, and a random broom broken in half. Everything else was just debris from the building, trash, broken glass, and aisles knocked over and broken, lying on the floor. There was nothing inside this store that was not damaged by debris. Thinking to myself, “I’ve found enough for today,” I began the trek “home” towards the sewers of St. Louis. A small glimmer of happiness and excitement filled my heart and mind as I imagined the kids’ faces once they saw the things I found; surely, they were awake by now. By the looks of it, it looked as though it was around noon. For what seemed like hours, exhausted, I finally made it back to our manhole.

As I climbed down into the dark abyss, I heard Aaron and Joan laughing; something I haven’t heard in a few days. I reach our “so-called” home and the kids were drawing with mud on the cement walls of the underground tunnel. For a brief moment, I felt sad, as I remembered how they used to draw with sidewalk chalk on our driveway. I set my backpack down and all I could do was watch them quietly; careful not to disturb them. I just sat there watching them in silence and remembered all the fun memories we had together as a family. I reached up to grab my necklace from under my shirt, carefully pulled out my necklace chain, and held my heart-shaped locket. I opened the clasp; inside was the only remaining picture of our parents we had left. Next to Joan’s stuffed unicorn, this locket was the most treasured item we had. I stared at my parents’ picture and tears started to fall. Our parents died trying to protect us from the blast. They brought us to the tunnels and were the last ones to try to enter the manhole. They were both killed instantly by flying debris. My two younger siblings and I had to drag our parents’ bodies and bury them in nearby park once it was “safe” to come out. What we thought was “safe” resulted in Aaron having pneumonia for two months, nearly dying. Joan has had problems with eye infections since.

Watching and listening to the kids laugh and play in the mud, I knew their happiness would be short-lived. Aside from being excited by the food and supplies I gathered on the run, the kids would return to their “normal”, and the inevitable hopelessness would return as all of our futures were uncertain. “Will we die? Will we survive? Will we be saved? So many questions, all answers unknowns. The future is bleak, hopelessness ever present,” I wrote in my journal. “Dear Diary, help me stay strong and be what Aaron and Joan need me to be. Survival isn’t a choice, it’s something we have to take on day by day. Today, we survive; tomorrow, who knows.”