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The Sun Will End Us

The nature turned against us. And how can we blame it?

By WriterinWonderPublished 3 years ago Updated 2 years ago 8 min read
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“You can’t prevent the change. So like you can’t prevent the end.”

Those were his words, if I remember them right.

I know that I remember them right. But some days are worse than the others. I’m afraid that I’ll forget.

The Golden Lion, ex-pub turned shelter, was overpowered by the stench. The musky odour of people laying near each other. Clinging to each other. The smell of sweat, skin and dust, mixed with a hint of booze that was coming from too many directions at the same time.

It was just when I managed to come inside when the door slammed shut behind my back. The guard was glaring at me from under his thick eyebrows. I shouldn’t have been there, he seemed thinking. It was too early in the morning to be moving, he seemed to be tempted to say. But I was inside and the first morning rays were about to hit the streets. His mouth didn’t move but he let out a heavy sigh from under his discoloured beard. Then he got around me and tugged the metal bar down. Then, as he pulled up the chains from the floor, I moved away, my steps accompanied by their clinking.

No one looked up to meet my eyes.

Lumps of cloaks and blankets and a sea of heads all lowered down. The barren wasteland of the outside seemed to have penetrated the inside, carried unconsciously on their backs. They were awake, I could tell. A woman in the corner was shushing her child. They were communicating with the people next to them but no one dared to raise their voice. No one seemed to feel the need to go over the delicate noise of their whispers.

He was one of those sitting in the corner alone. I didn’t even notice him at first. I just dropped my backpack on the floor and settled in the empty spot beside him.

It took him more than I thought but less than I hoped to start the conversation.

“You almost didn’t make it,” he said.

Yes, I knew.

“Where are you coming from?”

Waterloo. Almost two hours of walk, in decent conditions. More with the hunters blocking the bridge. And even more with the scavengers roaming the streets.

“Hm, I guess,” he seemed to think. In the darkness I could barely see his face.

But that was it.

We didn’t talk anymore that night. He stayed put on the side. With a quick once-over I could tell that he couldn’t be older than me. But, then, I didn’t bother to think about him much more. I was safe for a bit and the low sobbing in the background managed to lull me to sleep.

He was still awake before I dozed off. And then awake when I woke up.

Then the next night it was raining so we stayed inside. We didn’t talk.

Then, the night after, I came out looking for food. I didn’t have any luck.

When he saw me holding my stomach he turned around. Then, after I’ve heard him rummage through his stuff, he handed me a couple of protein bars.

I thanked him but I wouldn’t take them. He left them on the floor in front of me without saying a word.

In the end the hunger won over my pride.

The next night the radio turned on.

When the people heard the word end from the mouth of our prime minister the humming of their whispers grew louder. The word end and the burning and, then, the last goodbye. It has been months since it started. Months since the things changed. Since the collapse. But, on that night, he didn’t wish us luck. He was saying that it would soon be over. That we were all going to die.

Someone cried. Someone else had the courage to curse him. Some curled up and fell into silence.

“I guess, after all,” he said at some point staring forward, “our sun is trying to purge us.”

And, to that, I didn’t know what to reply. Partially because I couldn’t find the right words. Partially because I thought he was right.

We didn’t leave the pub for some nights. The gunshots were growing louder, so as did the screams. A young couple tried to open the door from the inside while the guard was taking a rest during the day. It was too late when we realised. They raised the metal bar slowly and unlocked the chains. Then they threw the door open. One of the girls screamed when the rays hit her in the face but the echo of her voice died pretty quickly. Her skin wrinkled and burned, exposing her flesh and letting in the smell of burned meat. The other one opened her arms and embraced the light. Even when her eyelids disappeared and left her eye bulbs exposed for an instant she didn’t flinch. The guard stood next to them, paralysed. The rays were carving in their bodies and only when they started to flicker inside through the holes in their chests he jumped on the door. The debris of their corpses flew, pushed outside by the impact.

No one managed to sleep that day. I just kept thinking that they might’ve been braver than us.

“Well, our sun is killing us,” he said that night, leaning against the wall. For the first time I was able to see his face as he spoke, “but, if I can be honest, I think that we might’ve deserved it.”

That was what he said but that time I couldn’t agree.

When I tried to argue back he smiled.

“We kind of knew that it would happen, didn’t we?”

Some of us, yes. Not all of us. No one said what we were supposed to do. Not really.

“We knew,” he insisted ignoring my complaints, “we knew and we let our home collapse.”

He told me who he was that day. Not his name or his age. Then it didn’t really matter. But he told me who he used to be and how he broke free.

“When I was a kid it used to rain,” he said, “often, actually. And people used to complain about it as well.”

I remembered, I told him. But I’ve never understood why they hated it so much.

“Me neither,” he chuckled, “I used to love the smell of rain.”

He said that a heart-shaped locket was all that he had left from those times.

Sad, really. Painful, it seemed.

He took it out of the inside pocket of the oversized coat. A small, rusty, useless object that he said that he should’ve thrown away. But it was there, in his rough hands, and he didn’t seem to want to let it go.

“I was different then,” he said but he didn’t seem willing to explain, “I changed. But I don’t want to forget who I was.”

I asked him why. He smiled. There was something in that smile that I couldn’t grasp but which made me want to lower my eyes.

“I am because of who I was and who I wanted to be,” he said and put away the locket, “and I am not ashamed of any part of my past.”

We turned silent for a bit. He put another protein bar in front of me, on the floor. After the first time it was something he’d do, now and then. And I stopped to try and refuse them.

“The sun wants us dead,” he whispered to himself loudly enough for me to hear, “it pains me to think that we pushed it to this point.”

I asked him what he thought that we could have done differently. He seemed to think for a bit while he was opening the packaging of his bar. I wondered if his bag was all filled with those. I never saw him eat anything different. Chocolate fudge, salted peanut, cookie dough, birthday cake, chocolate sundae. Always in the form of a bar. On the other side, there wasn’t really anything better around.

He took a bite and chewed slowly looking in front of him. I got used to him avoiding any sort of eye contact.

“There were many things,” he said in the end, “but I guess they don’t really matter now.”

I told him that I was curious. He chuckled and acknowledged my curiosity.

“There were many things,” he repeated once again and then he continued, “that we didn’t need. Many that caused suffering. To other beings. To ourselves.”

He finished his bar and folded the wrapper. Then he leaned to the side and opened the front pocket of his bag and put it inside.

“We took too much,” he said shifting back into place, “and now we have to give it back.”

I will not forget his words. I will not forget about him. I hope.

We grew closer. We talked and kept eating the protein bars.

I just wish that we didn’t have to leave the Golden Lion so soon.

Foragers attacked us one night. They were starving, I suppose. We were as well. So we had to leave. Leave and find a place to survive.

He leaned towards me that night when the explosions seemed to get closer. Not even five minutes later we had to run. The wall crumbled down in front of our eyes and we had to escape. I’ve lost him there somewhere and I keep coming back but I’m not even sure if he’s alive.

I just remember the last thing that he said that night.

I told him that I wished the world would be able to go back to normal.

“You can’t prevent the change,” he replied fidgeting with the small heart-shaped locker, “so like you can’t prevent the end. But,” he added looking into my eyes for the first time, with a sorrowful smile on his lips, “there is no end unless we decide to give up.”

Short Story
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About the Creator

WriterinWonder

Let’s talk about something uncomfortable…

.

Wonderlusty writer

Self-conscious

Passionate humanitarian

Clue-driven thinker

IG: @writerinwonder

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