Nostalgia

Nostalgia

Perception

What a beautiful day, thought Sylvia as she stared blankly out the window into the backyard. Hands plunged wrist deep in soapy dishwater, oblivious to the bit that had splashed up onto her apron, she mindlessly gawked at the bright blue sky and scrubbed away the remnant of her breakfast. The sun outside was bright, the grass on the lawn green as could be, and a gentle breeze could all but be seen as it moved through the trees. Scanning every inch of the yard, Sylvia could not for the life of her imagine why anyone would give up a moment so perfect as this one.

With a smile to herself, Sylvia shook her hands into the draining sink and then wiped them a few more times on a dry part of her apron. Turning on her heel like some sort of ballet dancer, she elegantly pulled the apron off over her head and tossed it across the kitchen onto the back of a chair. She stared around her tiny one bedroom apartment, the world she had created, and beamed with happiness.

Sylvia, like all young people, had wanted freedom as soon as she was old enough to think she knew what that meant. A place of her own; a place she alone made the rules, a life defined only by herself. Selfish dreams for selfish times.

Her big leather chair was comfy, as she plopped down heavily, beer in one hand and a bowl of popcorn in the other arm. The TV was loud, but she didn’t mind. She didn’t even really care for whatever game was being played, she’d never really understood the point, but loved to watch as the people around her stood and cheered with delight. It didn’t matter if it was good or bad, everyone was having fun, and that let her have fun. She wished she knew more of their names, instead of just Tom because apparently he lost a bet, so he had to “Pay up!”. The game really ends too soon for Sylvia’s liking, and everyone begins to leave, except for Cordelia. That was, presumably, not her name. Like with the others, Sylvia didn’t know the girls real name, but this was her favorite moment and had simply taken to referring to this girl as such in her mind. They clean the room slowly, making jokes Sylvia knew by heart, and at the end sat on a plush couch where Sylvia presented Cordelia a small box.

Cordelia smiles sheepishly as she unties the red bow on top and nervously pulls off the lid. Inside, nestled in between crinkling paper is a small silver locket in the shape of a heart. Her eyes fill with tears as she wraps her arms around Sylvia’s neck and they embrace firmly for what is, once more, not long enough.

With Cordelia having gone home for the night, Sylvia made her way around the apartment, locking the front door and double checking the window with the fire escape. The sounds of cars speeding passed below gave way, as in the distance a train horn bellowed deeply before fading itself, and she wandered to the bathroom as always. A creature of habit, Sylvia did as she always did. Brushed her teeth, took out her contacts, washed her face...and then stared into the mirror.

Sylvia never knew if she liked or hated looking at herself at night. The feeling of shame, but hope. A wash of emotions filled this moment every night, and yet still she did it...maybe tomorrow she wouldn’t. Staring into eyes that weren’t her own, but seeing herself. Rusted orange hair, slowly thinning, knowing your hair is black. Stubble on your face, truly unbecoming of a lady, she thought as she rubbed her chin. A sad man, with hope that tomorrow will be better...that’s why she still stared.

And then Sylvia woke up.

Reality

The dim glow of a grey sky in the early morning trickled into her capsule through the tiny window near her face. Sylvia’s eyes slowly adjust as she pushed the pod door open, taking in her first breaths of morning air. It was disgusting.

Coughing rather violently as she reached out into the disheveled room, Sylvia grabbed towards a face mask sitting on a near-by table, almost falling out of her robotic bed in the process. After only a moment, she gripped the mask tightly and strapped it to her head firmly, quickly taking several deep breaths as she slumped back into her shell where she laid a few minutes more.

Another day, another happy memory; she thought as she finally forced herself up and out of bed. The light coming in passed the tattered curtains, like everything else in the world, was cold.

Sylvia had heard about the Sun, seen it in old memories, even got to “feel it” on her face once, but never with her eyes. Never with HER skin. The memories are the only way her generation has ever seen such things as stars, since the clouds never part, but even if only in dreams they were beautiful to Sylvia.

After her morning ritual of combing the rat’s nest she called her hair, the rest of her daily prep work was pretty simple. Full head and neck wrap to keep her hair out of the way and her head warm, a top coat and insulated under layer for the body, and two pairs of socks with heavy souled boots. All of that and still not even thinking of the thin thermal regulating body suit she wore almost constantly, save for when she’d swap it out with an identical one to wash the first.

The house was small, if you could even call it a house. By Sylvia’s wager it must have been some sort of above ground bunker, four concrete walls holding barely three rooms. She’d made the windows with a pick axe when she found the strong hold originally, and with the metal rods inside the wall as bars, Sylvia never felt unsafe. It had taken a feat of no small skill to get the machine in here and working. Slowly building it from broken down or scrapped models over time, piece by piece, until it finally came online. Sylvia never knew if it was working as it was intended, but by some amazing stroke of luck, she managed to remake something people these days kill for.

The Nostalgic had a flat back, pushed against a wall, with thic metallic cords extending from the base and passing through holes she’d made near the base of the wall. The room they entered on the other side was like a large cupboard, big enough for a few supplies, but mainly used to hide the whirring generator powering it all. With a simple flick of a switch the whirring stopped and Sylvia listened for any odd sound in the distance. After a moment of hearing nothing, she grabbed the worn leather bag hanging on the back of the door and slung it over her shoulder, before closing the door and locking it with a key from the ring on her belt.

Walking back to the machine, Sylvia sighed as she stared at its rusted exterior, placing her hands on it softly. With a gentle push to a part on its side, a panel slid away revealing five cylindrical jars, all with an orange liquid inside. Removing her glove for a moment, Sylvia unplugged the viles from the three and five slots, then put her glove back on. After placing them in her bag, Sylvia pulled a large tarp over her machine and headed to leave.

Sylvia only lived about half a mile from the nearest permanent encampment, so she often enjoyed early morning walks to get supplies. The bag she carried had enough energy bars and dried meat to last a full days trip and then some, plus a full canteen, so even if no one was trading today she wouldn’t go hungry.

The snow crunched heavy beneath her feet with each step, but there was no fresh fall today, so the trip was of relative ease to her. As she approached the town she raised her hands, walking slowly towards the gate and the armed men who would undoubtedly be jumpy as always. But that was okay, it was routine, and that made it interesting to her. A schedule could be hard to keep in such harsh times.

Once the men realized she was no threat, they relax quickly and moved the chained gate aside. The settlement was almost dead, not that she expected otherwise, it was still early. But the few people that did make their way around must have been like her. On a mission. With purpose.

It’s the biggest building in town, or more over takes up the most land. The Collector’s house’s are always like this. Often tall and spire like rust and snow covered structures, constructed of the discarded and disused. Anything with purpose can be given new purpose and that’s what they do. Moving? Sell the scrap you’re leaving behind. Can’t take it all, sell those four walls for wheels! Out hunting and stumble across something you don’t understand? Bring it to a Collector! For a price they can tell you what it is, or better yet get paid and let them take it off your hands! Dying? Sell your memories, a Collector will pay your family well for good memories, and your nostalgia will make him rich!! And the older the memories the higher the price! Two hundred plus year old memories can go for obscene amounts. Years of nostalgia given up for a single “good old memory”.

Pushing open the large doors with a loud creek that echoed through the drafty halls of junk, a croaking chuckle crept across the room to meet her. Walking to the counter quickly she turns her eyes up to see the tall lanky form of The Collector. Shaking her head, Sylvia looked down as she pulled one of the viles from her bag and set it on the counter in from of her.

“What kind of feelings can I trade for this?”