Mariam Manzoor

Nuclear Heartlands

Maya silently waded through the murky water that was now at her hips, the raft she had assembled using an array of decaying objects found on the drylands was now tied to her waist with a thin length of worn rope. It felt heavier as the time wore on, as if she were dragging it through a thick and reeking soup. Bits of plastic and floating rubbish brushed passed her bare legs as she arduously moved through the depths. Maya’s search for food was getting critical, she was hungry. Famished. It had been around three days since Maya last ate, at least it felt like three – the sky never brightened, nor did it darken. She was starting to believe that the whole earth was now shrouded in this murky twilight, covered by clouds that rained ash but never water. She looked up. The black clouds rolled eerily overhead like catastrophic waves. Maya tried to take a deep breath of the muggy air but instead spluttered and coughed as the pollution irritated her air passage. How much more could the toxicity build up before we can no longer breathe? The despairing thought ran across her mind. Maya had traded her gas mask in for food many weeks prior, the remorse gripped her.