Leaving The City

A weak trail of smoke wafted through the glade. A pair of tired eyes stared through the dying coals of the campfire, glistening with tears. The events of the past three days paralysed The Man as they replayed in his mind.

She was gone.

A light breeze stirred the embers, and the smoke blew stronger. The man shielded his eyes, and the locket dangling from his wrist danced in the orange light. The small, silver heart had not left his side since She gave it to him.

The wind died, and The Man turned from the firepit. He gazed out through the trees, looking for any sign, and indication, that he was not alone. The Searchers would be after him by now. With The City only a few hours away, The Man knew he wouldn’t be safe to stay here. No-one left The City, not for long.

Out here, The Man knew he faced death, but the Searchers were something worse. Rising to his feet, The Man stamped out the last embers and the dangling silver heart caught the moonlight. Feeling tears slip down his cheeks, The Man brushed them away with the back of his hand. Tears wouldn’t help him here.

Slowly, The Man forged through the forest. The light occasionally dancing off of a rusted car which wasn’t entirely covered by the foliage or a window not yet turned to dust. How long had it been since anyone had walked these paths, The Man wondered. In all his life, all he had known was The City, and had never heard of anyone surviving out here.

He thought back to his home, the ramshackle hut that it had been, and tears spilled down his cheeks once more. Why did he have to keep thinking of that place? Of Her? He knew it would only cause him pain. He wiped the tears away, the locket bouncing with the movement.

As the sun began to rise, The Man stopped. He looked at the sky, painted in its pastels, and a sad smile flitted across his face. There was little joy, but enough for The Man to continue.

“Four days,” he whispered.

The day grew warm around him as he walked. His jacket, stained and torn, was soon draped over his head to protect from the sun as the forest turned to fields. The man’s slight joy had faded quickly, and the sense of loss overwhelmed him again as the day wore on. The remains of a past world lay all around him; rusted vehicles and crumbling structures. The urge to call out, to seek another person danced in his mind. He didn’t succumb.

In the distance, The Man saw a plume of smoke, a grey smear against the light blue of the sky. He rubbed his eyes, shook his head, and still the smoke remained. Such a persistent hallucination deserved inspecting.

Through the day, The Man walked with his eyes to the horizon. He had heard, as had all children that grew in The City, that the land outside was patrolled by dangerous animals, but since his departure yesterday, he had seen nothing. The world was silent, but for the wind.

As the day wore on, the smoke on the horizon began to fade, but the source grew closer; a faint orange glow on the horizon. Now apprehensive of what he may find, The Man stopped, and turned away.

Night fell quickly, and darkness crept over the land. Finding a mostly intact car, The Man crawled inside, quashing the paranoia in his heart. He was alone, he told himself. He was alone. He touched the locket dangling from his wrist.

He was alone.

Dawn came quickly, and The Man lay there, the weak morning light making a fool of his paranoia. There was nothing around, and nothing to fear. A spot of light danced on the rusted ceiling, transfixing The Man’s gaze; a reflection from a glass shard on the floor. As he looked, the spot transformed. It slowly became Her face. The Man crawled from the car, tears streaming down his face.

Five days.

Throughout the day, The Man made no move to wipe or stem the flow of tears that streamed down his face. He let his grief wash over him as he slowly trudged through the open, silent world. Everywhere he looked, in every shadow, every spot of light, every puddle and every cloud, he saw Her face. The silence was oppressive now. The Man walked without thinking, and slowly, night came.

The Man didn’t slow. Didn’t stop. Didn’t think for a moment that he should sleep or rest. He continued walking. All through the night and into the next morning.

When dawn came, the man looked to the sky, expecting the soft pastels that She had loved so much. But there was only the grey of rain clouds.

Six days.

As the rain began to fall, The Man could no longer tell what was streaming down his face. Nor did he care. He was alone, in the rain, with naught but a small silver locket.

Night came again, but for a reason The Man couldn’t understand, the dark didn’t rise. The light remained. A firm hand came from nowhere, and rested on The Man’s shoulder. He couldn’t walk any further. He was stopped. The hand steered him, and for time without measure, The Man walked again.

As he was walked, he gripped the locket, holding it tight as the world passed him by. Eventually, The City opened up before him. The Man looked around, seeing the pastels that painted the sky.

Seven days, but with the hand on his shoulder, one day at a time.