snow was falling fast (again)

[nebulia]

here's the next little bit i've been working on. real story this time.

Read this first.



the boy is watching the Grey World.

what's out there.

there's nothing to watch, you tell him. there's nothing out there.

the boy's face is red with cold. his eyes don't leave the Grey World.

there must be something. i feel it.

you join him at the rail on the wall. you wish there was something out there.

it's not a wish. i can feel it.

you look at the boy. the boy doesn't look at you. he doesn't blink hardly at all. his eyes are watering from the wind. Behind you you hear the windmills pick up.

why is it called the grey world, the boy says. even the city is grey.

but there is color here, you say. you touch his gold hair. you love him, because he is your boy, your best boy, almost like your son. there is color. his coat is red. you poke his coat.

he actually smiles a little. i want to go out there.

no.

why not.

because there is nothing out there and you will die. do you understand.

i don't care. i'll bring food.

you will die. it is cold. who knows what is out there. you are almost angry. your boy is smarter than that. a fit of coughing takes you over and you hack and hack and hack, for hours, it seems.

the boy says nothing, but he touches you. you finish coughing eventually. there is blood on your hands.

you have it, he says when you stand up. his face is almost angry. you have the sickness and you will die soon.

you say nothing.

is it true! he yells. he pounds your chest.

you look out at the Grey World.

yes, you say.

œ

the world used to be perfect.
and then there was the storm. the storm was lightning and the plains and forests burned. the storm was rain and the lowlands flooded. half of europe vanished in sea. and then the cold came and everything froze but there was no snow. and if you hadn't died by then you were in a city, hiding deep in warm basements.
the sun did not shine for a long time.
when they came up, the world was nothing but grey dusty desert and everyone was dead, unless you were in a city. and then you never left. the city was your empire. everyone belonged to the city. always and forever.

œ

you cough often and the boy has only just noticed. you see him on the wall every day and he watches the Grey World.

there are no gaps in the wall, no doors. when they came up from the basement, they built the wall. they didn't know what came in from the Grey World, if anything. they built the wall out of collapsed buildings, and sometimes bones.

and as you cough now, he dreams of leaving the city and going into the Grey World.

i saw a picture of the mountains, he says. the storms didn't end the mountains, did they. i bet the mountains are still there. i want to see the mountains.

you can't leave. and the mountains are miles away. hundreds of miles. and would your parents let you.

my parents are busy, you see. and my father would go with me.

you cough and cough and cough.

your father.

yes.

would go with you.

yes.

are you sure.

i am.

but why.

because i can tell he wants to see the world. he wants to know what's out there. he remembers when the world was right.

you remember that his father is old. you remember that his father is the mayor of the city, and serious and dedicated and always planning to make the city better, building up and building down.

you know that.

the boy nods fiercely. he pretends not to.

how do you know.

because i can see it in his eyes. the boy looks out at the Grey World.

i want to go.

you can't.

what if you go with me.

i'm going to die.

so. i'm going to ask my father and he'll either say yes, you go to get out of my hair, or yes, i'll go with you, and if he says, yes, you go to get out of my hair, you'll come with me. like an adventure.

the boy is gone, his red coat vanishing behind him.

you suddenly wonder how he was going to leave.

and then you remember that you never agreed.

œ

you look in the mirror in your apartment in what used to be an elevated train station and you see old. not too old, but wrinkles and pale skin and hair graying at the temples and the widow's peak.

no one cuts hair anymore. jobs are kind of arbitrary. people make food and drink and get water and work the windmills and the power. so your hair is long and stringy and on your shoulders. you used to be attractive, but now you are just aging and the wind has leathered your face.

you cough. you spit blood into the sink. everyone dies of the sickness, unless a building collapses or someone kills someone else. but if a person lives a normal life, they die of the sickness. they cough and cough and they cough up blood and teeth and pieces of lung, and one day they get fever and the cough goes away but weakness starts and they bleed out of their mouth because they are too weak to cough and they die.

everyone dies of it.

you know it's your time. you are old than a lot of people, though not the mayor, who is the oldest man alive. women get the sickness much later than men and live longer.

you know you will die soon.

there is a knock on your door. you open it and the boy stands there. he is holding a heavy bag and a backpack and has his red wagon that was his father's full of food.

he looks lost.

father said no.

so what did you do.

i ran away. i have everything ready. i read a book. i have a sleeping bag and a tarp and some poles for a tent and i have warm clothing and canned food and lots and lots of compressed water and some fresh underwear. so let's go.

you stare at him. right now.

yes. right now.

i can't.

why not! he is suddenly angry. his hair is gold against the grey of the town. it is shaggy and long, not quite to his shoulders. you promised.

i never said. you said.

your eyes said. father's eyes said yes, too, but he said not anyway. because people don't know how to follow their hearts, i think.

no one has a heart now, you say.

that's not true. everyone who says they don't have a heart just means they hold their heart closer to them than anything else.

you stare at the boy.

or their heart is broken.

the boy's gold hair glints in the fluorescent light that reads 51st street. c'mon. let's go.

i have to pack a bag, you say.

so you'll go.

you look at the boy and sigh. will you find my clean laundry bag, you ask.

the boy laughs, for the first time ever.