Under the Ominous Grey

I continue my endeavor down the streets of the town where I’d met my love so long ago. As I pass the store where I'd bought her heart-shaped locket, I begin to reflect upon the time before it happened, before the bombs were dropped. There was a time before it happened, right?

I can remember the period of prosperity that emerged after the birth of the worlds two largest nations. There was the Islamistan Republic, unifying all the factions of Islam under one nation spanning from West Africa to Pakistan, and of course, there was also the formal reunification of the USSR, now called the Union State of Soviet Republics. Even the remaining nations of Africa began to look into this idea of creating a single unified nation.

There was peace among the great powers. The changing of the guard and newfound unity in those regions of the world created a type of balance not seen in ages. Armed with the voices of the people, and protected by the power of their nuclear arms, the world had discovered a way to work together for the first time. Poverty was mostly unknown. Diseases were being eradicated. World hunger had been reduced to below five percent. Had everything just stayed on course—

Then they happened. No one was sure where they came from, but we’ve all come to learn what they want. It started in the early months of Winter, just after New Years. Something strange had been making people sick; it was identified through reports that some of those who had recovered later experienced tears of blood coming from their eyes. Estimated global infection rate by that time had been in the eighty-percentile range; a number close to that of Herpes Simplex.

It became known as the Imperial-Virus, in light of it being leaked through the media that it had been created by Imperial Japan’s Unit 731 during World War II. They were responsible for conducting over half a million experiments on human beings, including the sadistic practice of placing people into low pressure chambers until their eyes would burst from their skulls. They even intended to send plague infected fleas to California before the war’s end.

By the first days of Spring though, Imperial-Virus had mostly been forgotten. That was of course until the close of May. Rumors began to spread that IV had been causing adverse symptoms in some people. One day they would be fine, and the next day they became like walking shells of their former selves. Unable to speak, and unresponsive to any stimuli—including pain. They weren’t the concern though, it was the other ones. This group would be perfectly normal one moment, and with the blink of an eye they would become enraged and rabid. They would relentlessly attack anything and everyone in their path until they were either alone, or put down.

It was different when I witnessed it last week with that boy. He had just been playing with his little sister, they were laughing like children do. And then he used that hammer. I can still remember that look on his face. That smile. That laugh he had as he began to hit her, and the unbearable anguish of her screams for him to stop. I’ll never forget that look in his mother’s eyes when she knew she had to pull that trigger on her son to save her daughter’s life. It sends chills down my spine just thinking about it.

*****

I don’t want to think about that anymore. I’m still walking in downtown, but I know I’m just a few more miles away from finally seeing her again. It’s so strange to look around this place after having spent so long trying to get back. I remember it was in the last days of June when the bombs had dropped. Every nation with nuclear arms—how could anyone really have known? It was them. The Grey’s as they’ve come to be known. They’re responsible for it all. They’d been hiding in the worlds most powerful organizations for years, creating for themselves back door access to the bombs, waiting for the right moment.

They sent them to every major city in the world: London, Manhattan, Moscow, Los Angeles, Beijing, Delhi, Paris, Tehran, Tokyo—I can’t even name them all. They targeted world heritage and religious sites: Jerusalem, Mecca, Vatican City, Mahabodhi, Jokhang—gone. Even the Great Pyramids got hit (although reports had said they still stand partially intact). The list goes on forever it seems, and I know they didn’t stop with the nukes. They are erasing our past so we can never look back.

It took just two weeks for the Nuclear Winter to begin. We had all been told to stay where we were, to stay out of the rain. It was only supposed to last a few weeks. The Grey’s though, they weren’t done. The nukes had caused a major disruption in the communication networks and electrical grid. Use of cellular services and the internet had to be shut down for civilians around the world so that governments and emergency personnel could communicate.

There was a wait list you’d have to sign up for—state the name and location of the person you’d like to reach—and then an appointment would be given to the both of you so you could talk with each other over the phone, or video call. I waited so long to have mine, so I could tell her I’d been wrong. The day we were supposed to speak, those fucking Grey’s did it—that man made universe called "the internet" was wiped clean. Everything was gone—within half an hour the entire electrical grid had been shut down as well. Those bastards had finally succeeded in bringing us to our knees. 

I am burdened in anguish over having not been able to tell her how much I loved her, how I would find my way back to her, and everything else I should have said before she left. She was the best thing this life had ever given me and I just let her go. Only a fool would do such a thing. If I could go back, before the Grey’s, I would do everything to keep her here with me. I've spent months trying to get to her, but the Grey's have too much control over the open roads. I have to be careful. I heard they've already taken over what's left of New England.

*****

This world has become so cold—since the Grey’s attacked, everyday is covered in ominous grey clouds which bring down rain laced with nuclear fallout. It seems as though is has all been placed there to remind the world of the impending Grey Reign. There had been little to no sunlight since July, and now it's December—I can see how badly this has affected my world.

Buildings once so well kept and so full of light and laughter are left destitute—empty damaged shells of something that had once been so full of life. I can’t help but think of how they are reminiscent of those people who are left walking aimlessly because the Imperial-Virus has finally taken their minds.

The ones who have been out during the rains now have hundreds of raindrop sized wounds on them—oozing with blood and puss as the radiation poisoning takes its toll. Some of these people who have lost their hair have portions of their skull bone showing through the rotting flesh. The whites of their eyes are bloodshot from no longer being able to sleep, and yellowed because their livers are failing from the infections and radiation. I have even seen a few of them with tears of blood.

And the smell. Downtown had once been filled with the scent of orange blossoms and grape. There had always been the welcoming scent of the bakery—the windows now blown out upon the sidewalk. I can see the evidence of black soot telling me there had been a fire. I wonder what happened to the owner, if she had fallen victim to any one of the horrors of our new world order?

The restaurants too lay in ruin. The appetizing scent of family recipes once polluting the sidewalks beside them. And of course the sweet smell of beer and wine, mixed with the soothing aroma of tobacco smoke coming from the patios of the bars. These wonderful places that had been so cherished by their owners, and so full of the scents of life, are now enshrined by death.

The smell of the new world is that of feces trapped inside the clothes of the dying, and that smell doesn’t even compare to the scent of their infected and decaying flesh. It’s suffocating; and it’s everywhere. It’s only worse when you pass by the remains of those who have finally perished, rotting alongside the sidewalks they’d once stood upon, to stay there until time itself returns all that they had been to the air they had once breathed. 

*****

With her gone, it at times had felt like I wouldn’t make it through. She’d had this glow about her that would bring light in even the darkest of places. Now, after walking for hundreds of miles and hiding from the rain, surviving the Grey’s attempts to capture those who still walk free—five months on the road, I made it.

The air is getting fresher as I approach her street, as though her energy and spirit are taking the darkness away. The sidewalks are covered with the vibrant colors of the Autumn leaves which have fallen from their trees—they are reminiscent to the color of her hair—they blow softly in the slight breeze.

At the front door— It's as though the air and the earth have turned sour, and my insides are dropping into an endless abyss. The door is cracked open and I step through. It’s not right. The house is covered in dirt and dust. A beam of sunlight shines through the curtains of a broken window. My heart is collapsing—the house is ransacked.

As I walk in the chaos, I hear something under my foot: the distinguished sound of glass breaking inside a picture frame. It’s the first time since she left that I’ve seen her face. My eyes water at the thought of how I let her go. She’s wearing a blue flannel and her hair is tied up slightly. Around her neck is the heart-shaped locket I’d given her in February. I don’t know if seeing her smile brings me pain or joy.

Broken plates are scattered along the kitchen floor. The glass doors leading to the backyard are shattered, still standing inside their metal frames. I’m trembling. I can see blood stains leading to her backyard, to the beauty of her garden. Mesmerizing shades of color radiate from the flowers, looking almost fantasy-like when placed against the grey skies of the nuclear holocaust. I go back there in admiration of everything this woman can do. Her brilliance, like that of no other, and all that I see is a reflection of her.

My vision is immediately obscured—I’m hyperventilating. I walk slowly to the gazebo where she had always sat. My soul collapses inside of me and a pain like nothing I’ve ever known comes upon me.

At long last I’ve found the love I’ve yearned for.

Sitting on her bench, nothing remains of her hair or face. She is wearing that same blue flannel from the photo and I can see it's full of holes, and the stains of blood surround them. A knife is lodged inside her ribs . . . her hands remain frozen, eternally embracing the heart-shaped locket around her neck . . . 

. . . And as my eyes let loose, the sky decides to join me. My tears of blood fall, beginning to puddle beside her feet, and I know that in my final hour of darkness, I will see her soon.