Monotony

“The downfall of mankind will be itself.”

The words of the President’s last transmission, only hours before the United States government fell. The longest lasting unified front in the world. Holding its own against the Liberation for twenty seven years. For the first time making the world one people.

On that day, the first border to break was on the Canadian front. Then the Mexican border. Cities were razed and citizens were slaughtered, until those who remained submitted. Dragging themselves along after the troops headed for the capital. Passing the piles of bodies set to be burned. Ashes polluting the air faster than a forest fire.

The Liberation had announced its formation on May 1, 2044. The day the Supreme Leader of North Korea was strung up on live television. Dissolving the country's military lifestyle. All around the world, the news was understood differently. Some opened their arms in invitation, while others locked their borders. The latter became the standard after the fall of Australia. It became the only option once all of Asia was taken.

The wars against Europe were devastating. Having been abandoned by the Americas shortly after they began. Eight years later half of France had been turned to rubble, and the medditeranean turned to a graveyard of lost vessels. It took a few months more to overtake Africa. A couple years for Canada, and one more for South America. Then the world. Every soul on the planet seemed to pause and wait for the next step.

Then came the disbanding of the Liberation, and the collapse to follow. The promises of a world united dissolving. With no laws, or economy, people stole, killed, and ravaged. Abandoning their children, finding solace at the bottom of bottles, then laying in streets waiting to die. Every man for himself.

Amidst the chaos, sat a woman in front of an unmarked grave. Her tears falling silently. Remembering the wail that was far too loud for such a small body, as they were trampled by rambling drunks. Taking only a second to relive the moment before stumbling to her feet with a gun in her hand. Moving with purpose. The woman disappeared amongst the violence, preparing her next moves. Chasing after a ghost that only she could see.

The years did not sweeten as so many wished. After all, nothing can change without force. It became rare to find another person, but the earth became greener with flowers blossoming in new gardens. An outcome that allowed one pair of footsteps to follow in another. Leading to the door of a small house at the edge of a cliff.

The woman pushed the creaky door open, stepping inside to meet an old man in a rocking chair.

“Hello,” he said.

Hatred in her eyes, she raised her gun to his head, “tell me your name.”

“Is that really what you’ve come all this way for?” he gazed out the lone window, “please, ask.”

She did, “Why?”

He turned, locking their eyes, “have you ever been devastatingly bored,” his question floated in the air as a poisonous cloud, “having lived all your life doing the same thing day after day? Living in the same house with the same people, seeing the same faces at school everyday? Returning to your home after a day's work making pizzas just to pay some bills, only to fall asleep alone and do it all again the next day? It’s maddening really, always waiting.”

Her finger itched to pull the trigger with every word that left his mouth, “and your solution,” she ground out between her teeth, “was to form the Liberation. Fight for the good of the people then abandon them.”

“The answer to all problems is to fight. Create wars, and revolutions. Time and time again. It did seem to fix things. Though dear, you must realize, I never fought anyone. In fact, I’ve never even fired a gun during my life. I simply distributed them to my players.”

“Players?”

“Yes. All very different. Each one had a different cause to fight for. Gender equality, racism, sexuality, independence, even survival. Some even conflicted with one another, but you would be amazed what a sliver of hope can do to a person. I would know. After all, when all was said and done, I thought my fun was over. Until I received a message that I was being hunted, and hunted I have been. You’ve amused me even to my dying breath you could say.”

She stepped back, barely holding in the can of beans from breakfast.

He rocked back, “I’ve enjoyed our game. More than you can imagine,” the man leaned forward, “now tell me,” he said with a smile on his lips, “did you enjoy my game?”

The only round in the gun fired, meeting its mark. She set the weapon on the floor, and walked away. Her story, and the history of the world before kept in aged handwriting that filled the pages of the journal in my hands.

It was a thrilling story to read. I had found it on the kitchen table of an abandoned farmhouse. A place all the locals were too afraid to search. There was no name on the leatherbound bundle, but I could only assume it to be the woman’s in the pages. I read the date of the last entry, ‘Spring, 2092’. It didn’t mean much to me, but it made it a little easier to believe it could be true.

Something hit my chest with a soft thud. Laying on the grass under my favorite oak tree, I investigated the bronze locket that had fallen from the binding. The heart shaped thing popped open, revealing a picture too worn to see the person properly.

“Ever!”

I groaned as I heard my friend shout my name. Our small group must be gathering for dinner at our latest stop. It was later than usual. Nomadic life had its downfalls, although I much preferred it to being trapped in any of the villages we crossed.

“Ever, we need to go.”

Snapping the locket shut I stuffed it in my pocket, stashing the journal in my bag, “I’m coming,” stumbling to my feet. I walked over to the short redheaded teen.

He beamed at me, “was the house haunted?”

I tutted at him, “of course not, Apollo,” we walked back toward the cluster of small buildings, looking out over the valley. It was full of wildflowers and dandelions.

“Maybe the ghost didn’t like you,” Apollo poked at his pocket, seeing the end of a gold chain, “what did you grab?” He didn’t wait for me to answer, plucking it out of my pants.

“You shouldn’t take other people’s stuff,” I tried to grab it back, but he stepped out of reach.

“I had no clue you were into this kind of stuff. I would have gotten you one, man.”

“Give it back, Apollo.”

“Why? I want something too.”

“Just be careful with it. It was important to someone.”

The redhead stopped, his grin falling a bit, “you’re right,” he handed it back, “why’d you take it?”

“I found it in an old journal. Older than any book I’ve seen. I figured if I took one, I should take the other,” I strolled on, “and it should add some ambience when I read it for you all.”

“When are you going to teach me to read? You promised me you would.”

“And I will. We’ve got time.”

We walked back into the village just as the sun started to fall. Our camp was set up just at the edge of it. The other three boys sat around a firepit, chatting over their bowls of chili.

That night I shared the story I found, leaving out the gorier details. With their undivided attention, I showed off the heart shaped locket and its contents. We spent the rest of the night guessing what the person must have looked like, and what had happened to them.