Laid to Rest

A snowflake creeps in through a cracked car window seeking finality in the rising and falling of the old man's cheek. Activated by the sudden frost, the old man's eyelids began to part. “Still alive, huh,” he thought as he surveyed his surroundings. Slowly, he falls into the routine he picked up the last couple of days bedridden in the car. “Check your surroundings”. He found himself once again on his back cradled in a mess of cloth, trash, and blankets in a fabric seated 2045 honda accord, the only car in the area his people found suitable for a dying man. The car bore few injuries given that it has most likely been covered in snow the past 15 years. Most things have been under snow since the crash. Next, check yourself. The old man began a series of muscle tenses with mind to notice any new pains. His head was fine, both eyes working and his neck had minimal stiffness. This is thanks to the bedding his family made him before they departed. Hands were fine, only light frostbite to worry over, now the legs. His bottom half still had no function, good. The stab wound his son had left him with was doing its job.

If his family was going to make it through the tundra to the equator, the only livable place on the planet they could not afford the dead weight. And he was dead weight, emphasis on the dead. Two weeks prior while crossing a city chasm he broke his right leg on the jump over. He was done. Village rules mandate anyone unfit to make the journey gets stripped of their gear, laid to rest, and left behind. His family knew the rules and so did the old man. The next morning his son, a father to his own, went out to find his final home. That night they laid him down with a practiced stab to the spine. This blessing would paralyze his spine, easing the pain and speeding up the death process. And for that he was thankful. Death was soon to come, at most another day.

After losing his pack all he had were three ice cubes, an almost empty sleeve of crackers, and a cold metallic heart-shaped locket resting in his inside breast pocket. “Is this truly the end of my life, confined to a downtrodden vehicle no longer able to run? The universe is one funny bastard” he rasps as he coughs out a laugh. Living was never easy for me but at least I tried. I worked my ass off to be ended by one oversized, ill-placed rock!” gathering his strength he begins to find a way to lift himself up.”No, this is not my end, I still have more to write. I will rejoin my family and I will see my grandkids grow. I will see the world be resurre- Ahh” A bolt of pain surges through his spine as he is reminded of his still bleeding wound. Dropping himself and catching his breath from the sudden attack he groans “who am I kidding, what am I fighting? I know the rules. I knew my fate the second I landed the jump. And what of it? I've lived a good life. My kids knew me and I raised them well. I will join you soon my love.” the old hands now at his side raised to slip into his jacket pocket and with slight discomfort, dragging out the heart-shaped locket. Bringing the chilly device to his lips to warm the metal he clicked the locket open. ‘Then we can dance into the night like we did that day.’

Inside on the bottom of the locket was a small lens the size of a pimple. Above nesting in the top conclave was a full-color photo of a young lady. She had large curly dark hair pulled back on the left side but hair clips revealing ears laced with jewelry. Donning a winter sweater of red wool and a cup of something hot, she seemed perched on the couch staring lovingly. ‘My Nia’, his fingers searched for the activator, finding it where his daughter showed him earlier that week. “Shall we dance?”

The device whirred and a pinpoint light shot up from the lens to the roof of the car. Upon contact the light melted throughout the car, changing the old man's setting. At once he found himself standing, he had almost forgotten the feeling, standing in front of an older car staring at a heart in his hand. Alerted to the change, he noticed in his other hand a small box and a card. The card read ‘Happy 57th Birthday - Your Wife’. This was today, his birthday, and this was to be the memory he was recording with his brand new moment capturing device, the HippoLink, able to capture and regenerate any moment the user's records and stores. Sadly, as he reviewed time and time again while in the car coffin, due to the contents of the memory, it would also be its last. The door opened and the warm sun rose in his heart. A woman of amber and old band t-shirts glided through the porch. He always forgot her presence till it was right on him. His Tigress. Always ready to pounce, and as if reading his mind she spoke, “you should probably pick your mouth off the ground, you might get some dirt in it. You act like you don't see me like this every day.” The old, newly young, man quickly brought himself back to order, falling in line with the memory. It would go on without him either way but it was better if he played along. They were to set out on another one of their twice-a-month dates. Old and retired they had found their routine. Tonight they would go bowling at their usual spot. She would order him nachos and water and pizza and beer for herself. They would bowl two games and let him bowl the last half of the second game to let him show off. She loved watching him and he desired her gaze. So was their ritual. How he missed the simplicity. Back then he thought he was wasting away yet it was heaven compared to his current situation. Bowling came to an end and he dreaded what was to come. The best and the worst.

They arrived at the jazz club right along the docks on the bay. Jazz, the music of vapid expression. Music where you dance with your whole body. Nia’s favorite. They would dance into the night, his eyes pouring into hers as their bodies became music. Each note sent spasms into their connection. They dance as if they were the cosmos, a continual cycle of planets colliding. Little did he know at the time, they would.

Through some form of night's jolly the two old lovers always found themselves on the bench outside the club peering up at the moon. Anticipating the next few moments, he felt his breathing still. Nia kept her eyes fixed on him and he was supposed to be staring back yet he could not tear away from the destruction above. A sole light sped straight towards the moon. Then a collision, an impact seen from the ground. The behemoth began to split and fracture. Thirty seconds of mind-piercing silence, pieces started to break off and descend towards earth. It was coming. Bracing himself for it, he looked out into the horizon. A wall began to rise there, a hundred meters high of obsidian water. Then they were running. Through the night, running for their lives he saw another explosion in the sky, a satellite. He turned to his Nia, his woman of amber, and the recording ended.