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The After

by R.C. McLeod

By Rebecca McLeodPublished 3 years ago 9 min read
2
The After
Photo by Liam Andrew on Unsplash

Fire streaked across an amber sky, like suns or stars or blazing rain as they fell towards the city. The ground trembled and shook and asphalt splintered as the impact resonated. Shrieks and screams, an ungodly chorus, were drowned as explosions burst through the skyline. Glass shattered and buildings wailed; plumes of dust and ash bloomed over the city as they withered beneath the impact. Sharp scents mixed upon the wind, some I didn’t recognize: that of dust and smoke, but, too, the musk of something burning, and a thick metallic scent that drenched everything in a fragrance of destruction.

Madness.

Among the chaos, eyes found the form of a child, ashen blonde hair freckled with debris. She sobbed, sitting cross-legged among the rubble. Beside her, a crumpled form draped in forest green rested lifeless on the ground. Her hands were small, too small to fully grasp the slender fingers protruding from the fabric. A hesitant footstep drew me nearer; delicate features came into view beneath the hood of her cloak, skin scraped and marred with blood and dust... As I moved closer, I could make out the stain of vermillion that clotted with powdery debris as it spread over the concrete.

The child’s gaze met mine: a vibrant shade of brilliant blue. Like the summer sky before it was stained with the glow of fire and clouds of dust and smoke. Puffy red eyes blinked as she watched me, and sniffling, she wiped a dusty hand across her face. As her arm fell, light caught on the necklace upon her shirt. Etched leaves caught my eye, silvery against the matte heart, and something fluttered inside me.

I lurch upright upon my cot. The destitute city no longer surrounds me, the stifling odor of burning buildings and rubble no longer chokes the breath from my lungs. Instead, the fragrance of cedar and pine wafts in from the cracked window, and the full paints the room a velvet blue. Dark eyes catch on the locket, still resting upon the weathered nightstand nearby. I pluck the object from the tabletop, rolling it gently through calloused fingers.

‘What a strange dream…’ I muse as I stand from my bed. It had felt real – tangible…as though it were something I had lived before. Yet what I had seen…I had never seen such destruction before. Absently, I cross the room to the doorway, stepping out onto the porch. The night is alive with the shrill of crickets and cicada cries, of wildlife cooing and calling in the distant woods. Wind whispers across the branches of the nearby maple, and my gaze follows the wind easterly. Upon the horizon, I can scarcely make out the jagged skyline of the ruins protruding from the forest and upwards towards the stars…the once-great city, where the small pendant had been found.

“Hey, Sygil, come look at this!” I spun away from the contraption I had been examining, a large metal device with wheels and windows, and nearly tripped on the root of an oak tree as I stumbled toward her. I rounded the next tree and found Filina crouching down to the ground.

“What is it?” I asked urgently; she had a stick in her hand, using it to delicately brush away debris from forest floor.

“I’m not sure,” the ginger answered quietly as I crouched beside her. Filina offered me the stick, and as I continued to scrape away the remains of leaves and grass and dirt, a glimpse of silver caught my vision. She shifted, dappled light peering through the canopy over our shoulders as bitten nails pried the trinket from its earthy tomb. Calloused fingers brushed the surface gently, flecks falling from the surface until it shone in my palm.

Wordlessly, we both recognized the item as a piece of silver jewelry, likely costing a fair amount of coin in its era. At the crest of the long chain, an ornately embossed heart dangled; delicately etched leaves and vines glimmered against the otherwise matte surface. Brows furrowed as I took a closer look; on the left side, I noticed a small hinge.

“Interesting…” I muttered, and Filina moved closer as I tried to pry the halves apart.

“What’re you doing?!” she demanded sharply.

“It looks like it should open,” I answered, showing her the pendant. My fingers traced the line that divided the heart in two, lingering on the slightly dented hinge. “It’s been damaged…I wonder what’s inside it…” My voice trailed and her lips pursed thoughtfully.

“But why would a necklace open like that?” Filina asked absently, taking the necklace and turning it in her fingers. “It’s so small…what would you put in it?”

“I don’t know…”

“Having trouble sleeping?” The voice startles me, and I turn sharply.

“E-Elder Alidan,” I stammer, giving a soft bow as I stuff the necklace inside my trouser pocket. “What brings you about at this hour?”

“I was curious to see if you, too, would have visions of the Great Disaster upon finding the locket.” Brows furrow as my eyes found his, vivid green with a mischievous glimmer. My heart rises into my throat, throbbing noisily and choking away any response; I swallow, and Alidan chuckles. “Come with me.” Hesitating, tentative footsteps draw me from the porch. Wordlessly, I follow the Elder as he guides me through our sleeping village and far beyond. My mind races as we venture deeper into the forest, though Alidan seems to know the way even among darkness.

“Our Watchers alerted me a few days ago that you and Filina had been to the ruins,” the elder explains. “I left the necklace there for you and Filina to find. You’re around twenty now, right?” I nod. “Decades ago, when I was about your age, I was also given a vision of the Great Disaster.”

“What do you mean ‘given a vision?’” I ask. The trees had begun to thin, lively greenery shifting to grey and lifeless trees; wooden bark alive with insects shifts into dull grey stone. They are petrified, I realize – frozen in their lifelessness until even the choir of insects seems to fade entirely.

“We believe the past chooses a select few to carry the knowledge of the Great Disaster – the truth of what happened to our world. For example, why do you think you had the vision and not Filina?” He pauses near the crest of the hill; I study the Elder’s sun-kissed skin, creased with time, though bright peridot eyes show little age.

“Filina didn’t…?”

“No,” he answers. “Even though she shows curiosity in learning more, she is driven by you – by your desire to learn the truth.” Alidan continues, and I follow him to the top of the hill. Finally, I see it – a stone structure breaks through the treeline, spires twisting like gnarled trucks towards the sky. “This is Emberstone, the sacred building of the Elders,” Alidan says, leading me inside. “Here, we keep the history of the Great Disaster, of the greed and selfishness that led our race to near extinction, and our Mother Earth to near destruction.” He pulls a kerosene lamp from a cabinet in the entryway and strikes a match to light the wick. “Tell me of your vision.”

“…It…it was horrible…” I mutter. “It…was unlike anything I had ever seen. Bodies and blood, people screaming, fire and falling buildings…” He gives a soft sigh and leads me towards a long corridor, pitch dark aside from the flickering orange glow of the lantern.

“Our ancestors called them nuclear weapons,” Alidan explains, allowing the lamp to illuminate the nearest tapestry; fire engulfs a city of buildings taller than the forest, though they are cracked and crumbling. At the bottom, outlines of humans running and dead litter the landscape. “They used other devices that exploded, weapons of all types…but the nuclear ones…” His eyes close, and the Elder shakes his head. “…It was a force that we humans should have realized shouldn’t be trifled with.

“In that era, nations fought over resources and land and monetary gain. Over religion, beliefs, and everything else. Those battles ripped our world into pieces.” He gestures to another portrait, one of true desolation. No green prowled the skyline – only shattered remains of a once lively city. “This is what that city looked like just over a century ago. Now, life is returning. You questioned why the Elders forbid innovation, forbid travel into the remains of that city. It is because we must do everything possible to prevent the Great Disaster from ever repeating.” His gaze meets mine, stern and fierce. “Though innovation brings great things to civilization…with it, comes the ravenous, insatiable appetite for more. Our past has taught us that we are flawed, and that humans can maintain little control over morality when personal gain is the trade-off. Eventually, it spirals out of control, until it consumes everything. That is how the Great Disaster came about. But…curiosity, too, is insatiable; once the need is felt, the desire to learn and grow is constant.”

I nod, eyes flickering back to portrait of a burning city, of devastation and destruction…the figure of a small child, weeping beside the crumpled figure of her mother. And the silver locket resting against her chest. Alidan outstretches his hand, and words are not needed for me to understand; my own delves into my pocket, pulling the necklace free. The heart-shaped pendant dangles loosely in the firelight. Leaves glimmer, as though dancing among a soft breeze, and it soundlessly falls to the Elder’s palm.

“The Elders were all chosen by the past, all of us given visons from some seemingly ordinary object,” he explains, rolling the adornment gently in his fingers. From his tunic, he withdraws a slender pocket-knife, and the blade clicks open. Pearly metal slides between the two halves, and in the silence, a click signals the lock’s release. “From what the visions tell us, this locket belonged to an adolescent who perished during the warfare. The young girl that you saw in your vision.”

He hands the open locket to me, the kerosene lamp flickering with the movement so that the orange glow illuminates the trinket. Two halves, now open wide, and trembling hands accept it. One half contains the withered remains of words, faded and illegible from the passing decades. Dark eyes shift to the opposite, the soft, delicate features of a young woman; tresses of ashen blonde furl down to her shoulders, and age has done little to weather the deep cerulean of her eyes. Though lively and unmarred by dirt and blood and destruction, I know this woman – I have seen her before. I glance back to the mural, to the lifeless woman, the mother of the weeping child.

“We are in the After, now,” Alidan remarked. “The responsibility you now bear is to keep our history, and prevent humanity ever returning to the ways that led our ancestors to the Great Disaster. The fate of our world…of those we love, of those that surround us… This is the duty of those chosen by our past. This is the duty of the Elders.” Slowly, I nod, eyes lingering still over the mural, the bright eyes that have long sense left our world, buried deep inside our past.

future
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About the Creator

Rebecca McLeod

I am a YA-speculative fiction writer with a focus in sci-fi/fantasy. Writing has always been a passionate passtime for me, and has grown into my adult aspirations. For more about me, visit my personal site at www.rcmcleod.home.blog.

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