The Arrogance of Hope

This is getting old, John thought as he paused in the doorway of the dilapidated home. A gruesome scene met his gaze. Three lifeless but swollen bodies occupied the living room. The smell, while awful, wasn’t enough to trigger his gag reflex. He wasn’t sure what it said about him that he had become numb, apathetic even, to these moments of death, but what did anyone expect after everything had fallen apart?

Humanity was on a downward spiral.

John had often wondered where the species had gone wrong during his wandering. It wasn’t as if there was one specific instance which marked the beginning of the end, that much was obvious. Yet between climate change, civil unrest, and the long list of inequalities that human beings had inflicted on each other there was one reason that John kept coming back to: we never really took care of each other. The simplistic truth of his conclusion was a balm against the horrors he encountered each day. The state of things was just the logical result from decades - hell, centuries - of neglect. The scene before him was no different. Locking his jaw, John took in the scene in earnest.

He didn’t know the cause of the fight between these people but it was obvious that it led to their deaths. They had been here for only a few days by John’s estimation, but no more than five. The space he found himself in seemed small because of the broken furniture and general mess, to say nothing of the bodies strewn across it.

A man’s stab-wound-riddled body rested on the floor next to a dirty floral-pattern three-cushion couch. Pools of life having dried against the pine hardwood floors and the rug that did everything but bring the room together, John knew he would find only more of the same with the other bodies. Another corpse, a woman’s, was against the red brick wall next to the fireplace to John’s right. Someone had taken a meat tenderizer and connected it to the top of her head, her dried blood accenting her clothing and a bit of the wall. With dirty clothes and haggard bodies the expressions of the victims were frozen in shock or anguish, which didn’t surprise John. The scene that played out here was a whirlwind of violence.

His survival instincts told him that he should’ve already been checking the bodies for ammunition and valuables, but he was drawn to the man sitting in the chair. Located in the far right corner of the room, the way the man’s neck was angled against the back of the chair made him walk over to the body. It would have been uncomfortable if he was alive. The chair itself was unremarkable, a simple but honest job of plywood and nails. John took note of the silver, heart-shaped locket around the man’s neck.

Something to sell, John thought, I’ll have to remember to grab it.

As John got closer he noticed a bullet hole entry wound under the man’s chin. Looking to the top of the man’s head he found the expected exit. Blood and brain matter blossomed in the corner where the man sat. Looking down and to his left, he could see the man’s gun under the chair. It was a simple handgun, a Glock, black and heavy in John’s hand. There were still a few rounds left, a small boon in light of the circumstances.

He killed himself, but was it before or after the fight?

There wasn’t any way to get the answer to that question, not that it mattered outside of curiosity’s sake. He decided to start checking the man’s body for valuables. Pushing the corpse off the seat, it hit the hardwood floor with a dull thud. There was a time when John would have treated the remains of a person with more respect, but that was before he had been traveling the ruins of the United States. The raw nature of things out here changed a person, usually for the worst.

Besides, it’s not like anything mattered anymore. Nothing did.

The body fell face down. John, not one to go against convenience, started with the man’s shoes after putting down his gun. They were tarnished white and blue sneakers. Like most pieces of clothing he came across, they had seen better days. The man wasn’t wearing any socks and John didn’t need the shoes, as he had recently gotten lucky with a pair of well worn black boots, so he moved further up the body.

The man was wearing a grimy-looking untucked red-and-black plaid shirt with dirt-caked blue jeans. He noticed a small rectangular bulge in the man’s right back pants pocket. Curious, John lifted the shirt and was surprised to find a battered brown moleskin notebook. Books weren’t common on the road while wandering, and John generally avoided things that could take his eyes off his surroundings. He wasn’t one for recklessness.

Glancing at the door and listening for any odd noises, the lack of people or sound let John release some of the tension from his body and peruse the book. Illogical perhaps, considering his general caution, but the novelty of the book was enough to allow an exception to his rigidity. Sitting behind the long floral sofa on the far side of the room, he figured this was as good of a hiding spot as any. He could listen for intruders from the front while having an eye on the rest of the floor. He would only be there a few minutes, he assured himself. He still had to look for supplies, after all. Urgency in mind, he opened the book to its middle and found blank pages. Shrugging, he went backwards towards the beginning of the book until he found writing:

MAY 8, 2042

I can’t believe they’re all dead. We had just started figuring things out. It had taken so long to trust each other, but we did it! Our little band of three had decided to watch each other’s backs and get the locket to its final destination. It was such a silly thing, but it gave us something to do. The locket became our purpose. We even took turns wearing it. But now they’re gone.

I was only out for a few hours, scouting ahead and looking for food. How did things go so wrong so fast?

I don’t want to do this alone. I’ve lost too much. I’m sorry. I’m not strong enough. Please, whoever finds this, take the locket and keep going. I hope it gives you some drive to keep living like it did for us.

I’m sorry.

Daniel

John noticed the dry but warped spots on the page where Daniel’s tears must have fallen. He was unable to stop the sadness from coming, so he let it wash over him. Tragic, needlessly tragic, but that was the way of things these days. It had always been the way of things, since humans became self-interested. He forced the emotions back down while listening again for any odd noises. Silence allowed him to think more about what he had just read.

The locket!

Following instinct, John turned the body over and saw the locket around Daniel’s neck. Doing his best to not look directly into Daniel’s dead eyes, he gently unhooked the chain and removed the necklace. After another quick scan of the area he put the locket into one of the coat pockets of his fairly worn black leather duster. He went back to the book, jumping to the beginning. He just wanted to see what the big deal was.

Just a few more minutes. What’s the harm in a few more minutes?

JANUARY 15, 2040

We named you Hope. Such a pretty, perfect name in light of the state of the world. You were healthy and happy, if a bit on the smaller side. Your hair was so red and your eyes were a deep green! We loved you so much, the whole neighborhood did. Birthing rates had been at their lowest in decades, so you arriving on the scene was a big deal. You had a family waiting for you that wanted to protect you and help you try to make sense of this world that we never seemed to figure out.

But then the U.S. invaded Canada, of all things.

It doesn’t matter why we did it, it was stupid. Regardless of what the situation was between the nations there was always a choice to not draw blood. This is probably the only advice we’ll be able to give you as parents, but there’s always a choice.

Of course they retaliated, and of course it was bloody. Being in St. Paul, Minnesota, we didn’t want to take any chances, so we had a friend take you in who lives in Imperial Beach, California. We got you out just before the fighting found its way here.

We’re sorry we won’t get to see you grow up. There wasn’t enough room for all three of us, so we stayed with our neighbors and decided to do our best to try and make things work for as long as possible. We plan to come find you if it’s ever safe enough. If not, we hope this reaches you one day with the silver heart-shaped locket that we gave you when you were first born. We wanted something to remember you by, to keep us going.

All Our Love,

Abby and Anthony

If you’re reading this and you’re not Hope, please honor two grieving parents’ wishes and deliver the locket and book to our Hope. She should be staying with a person by the name of Michael Fallfield. Please find it in your heart to travel to Imperial Beach. At the very least, I’m sure Mike will be able to provide some sort of compensation.

Thank You Stranger

Two things surprised John when he finished reading the passage. The first was the fact that he had subconsciously put on the locket as he read, while the second was the tears streaming down his face. He tried resisting it, but it was no use. The simple nature of the story cut through his stoic demeanor in a way that was refreshing and foreign. When was the last time he let himself be swayed like this?

John, flipping through the book, became more entranced by the spell of the story. The book and the locket had been on a journey from Minnesota to California. Colorado, his current location, was nothing more than a rest stop. Strangers had continued the task from whenever it was found and not only carried the book but documented some of their journey while they traveled, that much was obvious by the dates of the journal entries and the different names that he spotted as he made his way to Daniel, the most recent addition.

It scared John how excited the prospect of this task made him but emotions were winning the day. Here, in this human made hell that he was too much of a coward to take himself out of, he had found something worth living for. He had been wandering for years, doing what he could to survive. But this was something outside of him, something more than just a mere reaction to circumstances. It was something more difficult than violence and destruction. It was an inherent good.

It was purpose.

He began rising, the promise of movement with direction energizing him.

I’ll do it. I’ll get the book and the locket to Hope. She’ll be able to see all the people that loved her and wanted to help her know her par-

John froze as, turning around to begin fervently scouring the place for supplies, three men stood in the doorway of the home in name only.

They were armed.

They were scared.

But the thing that worried John most of all was this:

They were desperate.