Stormy Monday

A strong gate, not meant to be broken, lies twisted and bent. A gate that once held back 'have-nots' from entering the Fortress World new holds nothing. The ground is covered with tiny pieces of glass that once were windows. the glass makes a glittering mosaic pathway that beckons me to enter. (Beautiful.) Then I remember Harry's warning: "Be careful. It is full of death."

Curiosity brings me to a place I should not even be, could not even be. I am a She. A She is the mother, the breeder or the cook, not the searcher. but I like to find things: new words, tools and answers about the 'what was'. Since nobody wants to talk about the 'what was', I search alone for answers. (I am here, Harry.)

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My name is Hey You. I think. It seems to be a popular name. I am too young for a real name, like the mother, the butcher, the boss, the fixer. I am a good searcher, so maybe, one day, I will be called the searcher. I like that.

"Hey you!"

That's me. I think. I turn around and point at myself to make sure the He is talking to me.

"Yeah, you!"

It's the shoemaker. Good. I like that He. He is never angry. He smiles a lot which is unusual. Nobody else hardly ever smiles. I wave at him.

"Hey you, I need some leather and rubber. Oh, and can you find me another toothbrush?"

"Sure. It will take me awhile to find a toothbrush."

"That's okay. See you if I see you."

There are many reasons why I make a good searcher. I am good with a knife. I have an uncommon instinct for danger, they say. I am small, nimble and fast. (Nimble, that's a fun word.) I fit into small cracks and crannies that most of the He's can't get into. I am not afraid of crushingly small spaces. In fact, they calm me. I know how to hide, really well. I am a mouse.

Finding rubber and leather is easy. I just find a car, and there are a lot of cars. Abandoned cars are everywhere; abandoned by choice. There's nowhere to go. Plus, it's not very living to have something a He may want.

The toothbrush is a problem. I have to go into the Concrete. Very risky. Not hard to find a toothbrush there. They are packaged so well that they never decimate over time. (I like that word too.)

I find the rubber first. Like I say, easy; flat tires are everywhere. Days later, I see a mound of rubble that once was a house. Nobody owns a house anymore because they are like cages, you are never safe in one, just easy pickings. But a house is the best place to find leather; a shoe, baseball mitt, belt.

Now I find myself standing at the edge of the Concrete. My instincts scream at me to turn around. Forget the toothbrush. But keeping one's teeth is useful; for chewing tough food or to tear just about anything. My personal favorite use...to bite!

I am close to the building now. I squeeze under a concrete block. Slowly, I leave the protection of my hidey-hole and move toward the red Target bullseye. I know just where to go. No dilly-dallying. (Dilly-dally, what a silly word.) And there they are, toothbrushes scattered all over the floor like twigs in the brush. I stuff them in my pack.

"Hey you!"

This time, I don't turn around to see if the He is talking to me. I run. He runs. I slide under some fallen shelves, turn around and pull out my knife. He throws junk and rubble that are in his way as he moves closer and closer towards me. He is big. I put my knife away, no sense losing it. I stare up at the He. He stares back down at me and smiles. (Gross, his teeth are rotten.) I lunge through his splayed open legs, do a quick roll over onto my feet and run. He grabs my slick by the hood. My short cropped dark hair leaves the He nothing but slick in his hands.

"Hey...you...you!"

(Catch me if you can!) I run. I zig-zag like a mouse. I slide under an impossibly small space by the exit and throw concrete dust all over me. I am the rubble. He is mad, crazy mad. He is shouting words I have never heard before. He is noise. the noise moves farther and farther away from my hidey-hole. I am calm and I wait. (I am going to miss my slick.)

"Hey you! You're back!"

It is the shoemaker. The smile on his face makes me feel safe.

"Where's the stuff?"

"Here."

"Any problems?"

"Nope."

"Good. You should go see Hairy."

"Who's Hairy?"

"A traveler. Although he is not very hairy. I don't get it."

"Why should I go see him?"

"He has some interesting tales about the 'what was' that you may like. Not me though."

"Good tales?"

"Don't know. Like I said, I am not interested."

"Where can I find him?"

"Just over there. He made his own camp. Like you he prefers living on the outskirts, not interested in being part of the collective."

"I kept a couple of the toothbrushes. Don't want to go back there anytime soon."

"I get that."

Hairy is sitting on a log reading, of all things. Hardly anyone reads anymore; too hard and who wants to read about the 'what was'. He really is not hairy. Moonlight reflects off of his dark, bald head. He is as dark as the shadows. (Shadow man...better name.)

"Hairy?"

"Oh! Hey, you, don't you know it's dangerous to creep up on someone?"

"Sorry, force of habit."

"I'm not sure if that is a good or bad habit."

"I'm Hey You. And you are Hairy, right?"

"Say what?"

"I'm Hey You. And you are Hairy, right?"

"What do you mean, you are hey you."

"That's my name. I think. And yours is Hairy, right?"

"Yes, I am Harry. But you can't be Hey You. That is not a name."

"It's what they call me. Why do they call you Hairy? You're not hairy."

"My name isn't Hairy, it's Harry. H-a-r-r-y. Harry. Named after my pops."

"You had a pops?"

"And a mom. Don't you?"

"I suppose I must have. Just not one that I know of."

"Too bad. Well, what can I do for you, little lady?"

"Can you tell me some stories of the 'what was'? I'm a searcher."

"If you want to hear them. Here, sit down. Enjoy my fire."

"Okay."

"Let me see though. I can't call you Hey You. That's too confusing."

"I think so too. I never know if they are really talking to me."

"That figures."

Harry looks me up and down, tussles my dark hair, then lifts my chin.

"I will call you Stormy because of your eyes. They are like looking into a storm cloud."

"Wow, really?"

"Like a storm cloud, Stormy. Beautiful. Okay, so tell me what you think you already know."

"I don't know how long ago, long time, I guess; yesterdays are gone and done with. But the 'greenies' blame the world for the heat waves and there were many of those. The heat waves destroy the forests, crops, turn whole areas of the planet into desert and a lot of people starve. The 'haves' build great big fortresses around themselves to shut out the 'have-nots'. It is better to live without anything because the rogue He's take anything they want. The Fortress Worlds survive for a long time, then suddenly die. And that's it."

"Well, you have searched for answers and found many. You truly are a searcher. Let me help you with a quote from an old book, "Utopia". It goes something like this. "It is wrong to deprive someone else of a pleasure so that you can enjoy yourself, but to deprive yourself of a pleasure so that you can add to someone else's enjoyment is an act of humanity by which you alway gain more that you lose." The 'haves' forgot this. Somewhere, humanity was lost."

"What does that mean, humanity? I like that word, it sings."

"Yes, that is a good word. It is supposed to be a quality of being human. Like you. You are a human. Human nature was supposed to be one of kindness, mercy and benevolence. We lost our humanity the minute we started to blame each other for the problems of the world. We became a predator and prey society and monsters ceased to be news. Quote, "There is never any shortage of horrible creatures who prey on human beings, snatch away their food, or devour whole populations." I'm sure you have met some monsters in your day, because they still exist."

"I met one just the other day. Scary. Is that all we lost?"

"Oh no. When we lost our humanity, we lost many things, too many things."

"The Fortress Worlds must have had humanity. They lasted a long time, I'm told."

"Maybe, but as they worried about themselves, they forgot about the rest of the world. In doing so, they lost everything too, eventually."

"Do you know how?"

"Not sure. I never go near an old Fortress World, nor does anyone else. The stories about the deaths are varied, but nobody survived."

"I want to search a Fortress World."

"Search and find what we lost when we lost our humanity. Search and find out why they died. The world needs to know, even though they don't want to know. Learn from our errors. Find our humanity again so that we can be more that just survivors."

I said goodbye to Harry, gave him a toothbrush and he gave me a book, "Gulliver's Travels". The picture on the cover is funny. I am having trouble reading it, though. It is very hard.

(And now, here I stand. Time to search.)

The mosaic trail leads me to a thick broken door with roses carved into it. (Opulent, a WOW word.) The floor inside still shines in the light. A magazine lies on the floor, I pick it up. Across the cover in big white letters is the word: CONTAMINATION. I know that word. Everyone is always telling me, "Don't eat that, it's contaminated." But, growing up eating scrapes, I discovered that I can eat anything. Contamination does not bother me. (Dumb word.)

I sit down on a broken ledge to read the magaine. It has answers. The problem is clear, it is the sterile environment that they created. They cleaned and cleaned until they had no resistance to the smallest bacterium. I suddenly understand the funny picture on the cover of "Gulliver's Travels"; a man tied down with hundreds of tiny people, so many that he cannot escape. The 'haves' could not escape either. They could not survive outside of their walls, but then again, they could no longer survive behind their walls. (They should have eaten more dirt.)

I walk around the shell of the house. My eye catches a glittering object that dangles from a broken piece of wood. I pick it up. It is beautiful, gold and shiny. It is in the shape of a heart. The heart slips out of my hand and pops open. Inside of the heart it says, "Love, forever."

(Love, forever. What a curious word, love. I know what forever means. I wonder what love means. I like that word. It feels nice when I say it. I will search for that word. It seems important.)

I pick up the magazine to put it in my pack. On the cover I read "Monday, November 1, 2085." I like the word Monday. that will be me: Stormy Monday.

This is me, Stormy Monday, searcher, searching on.