Short Stories | After Atlanta: Ch. 2

It's almost funny. I really thought things would get better, that somehow all of this would bring us together.

It didn't.

The problems in our marriage didn't magically end when the gas stations closed, and the cattle ranches ran out of cattle to slaughter for even themselves.

Our world was starving of, well, a lot of things. Fuel. Food. Fuckin water. The lack of care, carefulness, that was around before.

And I think I hate my wife, and I think she hates me too.

But you don't really get divorced in times like these.

I'm sure everyone in history has said that in times like these. Divorce is a luxury of good times. It's a luxury of having other options. I remember when other options meant who I was going to fuck next, but now "another option" is who's going to find firewood for tonight if not her.

We said we'd give it a week here and move on after that. I thought we were talking about a former friend's house we "occupied", but I think we were talking about a fight. I'm not sure anymore. I do know though, that it was more than a week and we haven't moved on.

It's been 37 weeks actually. I know this because every god damn week she strikes another tally mark on the east wall. Almost as an attempt to spite me and my broken promises. But we've had chances to leave, I've even packed up our essentials and offered to leave a few choice times.

She wanted to stay.

But now that the days keep getting shorter, and winter comes closer, she wants to leave. But even when she wants to stay, she marks another tally hash on the wall. Sometimes I think she does it to spite herself. But I stopped trying to figure out what the she thinks a while ago.

Maybe that's when things got worse, or maybe that's when they got as good as they were going to get.

Ya know we had friends here too at one point. They went off a few months ago to check on the next town over. Well, that's what they said. They haven't come back. That's not unheard of though, the world ain't what it used to be. Or maybe it's just finally showing it's teeth again.

Either way, they didnt come back, and if it was their choice not to, I don't blame them.

Seems lately my walks "to catch some air" get longer and longer, even though I really should be saving these shoes for the long walk over the mountains after the winter. They're my last pair.

I think I'm on a lot of last pairs. Jesus, the winter isn't even fuckin' here yet and I'm already … I'm just already … well, I'm …

I don't know. I just didn't realize so much of this counted before it did.

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Check out the previous chapter of After Atlanta in my stories.

Thanks so much!

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About me: When I'm not behind a camera or a keyboard, I enjoy watching stand-up comedy, learning about history, and all sorts of adventures with my cat, Cloud.

I'm here to tell stories that matter with words, photos, and art.

I graduated from my University in the winter of 2016 with a Bachelors of Science in Political Science, with a concentration in human rights and genocide studies. However, I immediately went toward one of my long term passions and worked in the automotive industry. I spent two years with Subaru of America in product research before returning to my Alma Mater to pursue a Masters of Public Administration (Non-Profit Path). This was interrupted by an amazing opportunity to return to the automotive industry and pursue a career with Mercedes-Benz of USA as motorsport photographer.

In all this time I developed a passion for hiking and photography. The photography naturally and initially focused on my passion for cars. As time went on though, that passion found itself overpowered by a sense of responsibilty. I still had a calling toward meaningful study of human rights and conflicts. Slowly but measurably my art has turned from magazine quality pictures of cars to a focused and gritty documentary style of photography.