Revolting

The sentries stood tall with scaly, dry bark. The water ran brown and backward. Ripples resembled clouds of brains regressing under the bright light of the undead sun. 

If I squinted hard enough, I could see the fruit flies falling. Dying. 

Days split into seven, every hour accounted for. Not a single moment to breathe. 

“I wish we could stay friends forever, after this shit storm is over,” I said. 

She looked up at me and tucked her brown, wavy hair behind her ear.

“Forever?” She tilted her head, watching me closely. 

“Wouldnt you want that? I could always know what you are up to. We could help each other out.”

Her smile quivered. She tugged my hand and we slipped out through the school doors.  

Something ripped from my chest as I heard her voice in my head — a phrase she always used when she wanted to join in: budge over. It wasn’t anything fancy. It was just hers. 

There was no wind. 9am. Between the leaves, the birds were overexposed against the blue sky. Black. Magpies in flight. Then nothing. It was as if they had all vanished. 

I thought life froze when you became an adult, but it speeds up the first day of school on a Monday morning when the brain is still chronically in bed. It happens every week. It always comes back around. Whether or not I had made a good decision bunking class with my friend — a  better example to follow, was not there. 

She looked at me with eyes full of wonder, excitement and flames. 

Flames.The field behind me was burning.

She was a premature child, but something about her made her seem like an outsider just like me. It was the way she jumped whenever she spoke, as if she would never be heard or seen otherwise. Whenever she did, she looked shorter than she was, but you would always remember her. I hadn’t quite processed my feelings the way her face did. For all I knew, consequences always came after. 

School went on like it was never meant to be remembered, left behind us as we walked away. Students disrupt the class, get kicked out, fall in love, fall out of love. It all seemed strange to me. Not the falling in love part, but the gnawing question of what happens next. And when. 

I had never passed a single test. 

The sky plumes shades of red as the ground sweated cold. It had been a long time since the seasons revolted. Voices. Accusations from those who once welcomed us. When the economy crashes we are always blamed. Maybe the seasons know.

The backlit display read minus two degrees. I clutched my Sherpa coat and rubbed my arms. The scorched leaves kept falling while the green ones resisted change. No one knew what was going on. 

Standing at the bus stop were the other students from our school. 

“Guys!” One shouted. “ Are you serious?” He turned, facing away from the rest of us. “During the lockdown I got so obsessed with the idea of a pumpkin buried in winter snow.” He spun back around, eyes wide like a chihuahua. Fingers sprawled as if he was flipping the sky like scissorhands.

The tallest guy from the two blurted, “I’m not buying this!” He points at the allotment where the orange pumpkin peeked through a soft mountain of snowflakes. It was growing under the soil, the unseasonal snow barely covering its shell. 

“This is pissing me off.” He looked over his shades. “ Why would the earth do this?” He looked directly at me. “What’s next? The mice invading our homes are under the soil keeping it warm?” He pushes his shades back up his nose. “One of you has to go check that shit out.” 

It never occurred to me that I would be the one sacrificed.

Nobody moved. The dare in their stare felt like the cold air blaring into my face as the wind pressed against the allotment gate, rattling the chain loose. 

My best friend clung to the arms of the tallest guy. 

The crazy one gestured toward the gap after the chain hit the ground, his scissor-hands still pointing as the snowflakes fell around him, melting as soon as it hit his clothes. 

By 11am, the blood-red vines started dancing. It sounded like things were falling from the trees, but I couldn’t see anything behind us. All I saw were vines of poisoned berries strung on brambles — ripped out, throned, bent into circles. Leaves that caught the light, others darkened by shadows. It started to get dark like dinner time, though it was barely afternoon.

“Such a stereotypical friend,” I said, my voice heavy with malice. 

“So I should risk my life to prove our friendship?” She asked. 

“What if he wasn’t here? What if you looked like me? Hypothetically, what if?” 

“You know this isn’t about that,” She said, a tinge of regret in her tone. 

“When I was bullied, did you even…” I stopped myself. 

“I am small. What could I have done?” Her voice surrendered. 

“Nothing, I guess.” I puffed out a breath of cold air and looked over at the guys walking toward the allotment gate. 

[BREAKING NEWS: THE EARTH IS UNDER STRAIN. ALL JOBS WILL BE LOST. STOP EVERYTHING YOU ARE DOING AND STACK YOUR SHELVES WITH TINNED GOODS. WE ARE HEADING TOWARD FAMINE. DO NOT PANIC]. 

All our phones pinged at once. 

Women with empty strollers. Snow dried up 

Grandmothers with black hair and walking sticks. Rain spitting down. 

Men with liquor in hand. The field burning, the rain stopping, the snow putting out the flames. 

We all stayed home, until the lights went out.