A Requiem Lost, A Requiem Found.

The Sun blew no whistling winds on the fated husk that was once his home. Indeed, if he were to be observant and had the proclivity to do so, he could even see the ashy particulates hang in the air like dust balls in an old western. The roads that winded into town lay barren now, as did the dilapidated houses which sat like bloated corpses in that sea of humidity. Paint flaked on the picket fences, Rusty nails protruded from vacant doorways, broken concrete littered roads like the pox.

Jack rotated the locket in his hands. Its surface pockmarked like the streets before him. One might assert he often contemplated, that rubbing it in his calloused hands had caused its accelerated decline. But he did not care. The cold, gold arches of the heart shape had the worst of the tarnish, revealing a less than attractive metal below. It was this that reminded Jack of what was ebbing on his soul. The longer it took to reach his destination the more unrecognizable he, the locket, and the world became.

‘How casually nihilistic’ he thought to himself as he trudged down the rows of terraced suburbia. He rotated the locket once more. The seal had broken, jamming it in place and he had given up attempting to prize it open with his broken fingernails long ago. He tried to focus on the face that lay below that tiny golden gate. The red hair, the freckles, the identical locket she wore in it. it was useless though; she was gone and maybe it was better that he forget.

“What you staring at”, the man behind him remarked inquisitively, “I reckon it’s that necklace”. Jack tightened his grip’ around the gold links and coiled them around his fist three times methodically. “It's nothing” Jack retorted to the curious man, suspicion blooming at the creases of his mouth and eyes. He tucked the locket back in his waistcoat pocket and straightened up as if to shoo away his lack of discretion.

The single-file line of men and women that stretched to both horizons continued like a factory assembly line. Jack peered into the sun-bleached distance hoping to catch even a glimpse of the launch site. ‘Nothing yet’ he sighed internally. He continued the march, endless as it may have seemed. The lady in front was young and stout with a moth-eaten blazer and a small crocodile handbag she had wrapped tightly around her body. Occasionally she would glance back at him, especially when he focused in on the exquisite way the crocodile leather had been wrapped into such a device. The glance was always accompanied by a look of wry suspicion written across her face. The man behind seemed less concerned. Tall, slim, maybe in his seventies but with a jovial personality, he seemed to like humming and whistling as he went, something that irritated Jack immensely. Still, he preferred the shallow inconsequential attitude of the aging man behind rather than the strict untrusting aura he got from the young lady in front.

The steam horn that counted the hours could be heard blaring in the far-off distance. Most people had lost the ability to measure time, the clocks had stopped ticking months before and cellular connections had become redundant with the lack of power. Thus, aside from the arrival of dusk and dawn the steam horn measured time instead. It was this fact that motivated his steps; ‘maybe in another hour’ he thought. He longed to see the fire truck red of the rockets that would surely be glimpsed over the horizon by then. The steam horns were not just for him though. Every time they whistled, the line lurched into a frenzy and every man, woman and child quickened their pace.

When dusk had finally arrived, a final bellow from the horn called out and the single-file line erupted into a crowd. None had beds or bedrolls as those were the rules. “No earthly items shall be brought onto the vessel” the ads had rung out on color TVs; back when there were TVs. Jack supposed that it was likely due to weight differentiation, or something along those lines. Yet it was this fact that troubled him most. How would he keep it? He swung his left hand up to his abdomen where it lay nestled in his pocket. His heartbeat a little faster until he found it tucked away in the corner. An almost inaudible sigh of relief escaped his lips. With this resolution Jack lay down in the dust by the side of the road and tried to sleep. Yet sleep would not come as it rarely did. Jack looked to his right where the short lady lay curled with her back to him. Every now and then she pulled on her pleated skirt for warmth and wrapped her handbag more tightly. Jack suspected it was also a gesture as if to say: “I’m awake and I’m watching”. He peered to his right where the man slept, unsurprisingly he was snoring. ‘How can anyone sleep with the knowledge of where we are going and what we are leaving behind’? The man’s snoring ceased as if in response to his question and with one eye he peeked beneath his brow.

“Ah, Jacky- boy” the man uttered sleepily, “plotting my murder are ya?” He yawned and propped himself up with one arm. Jack gave the man a curt smile and surreptitiously patted the spot where the locket lay. “No” Jack retorted, trying to sound genuine. The man gave a hearty laugh and retrieved a crumpled pack of cigarettes he had in his front pocket. “Only one more day, god willing” the man started as he pulled out a particularly crusty one and lit it with a small shiny zippo. Jack's eyes latched onto the glint of silver barely visible in the darkness. “Can I bum one?” Jack asked hoping to hold the tiny object.

“No problem matey”, and with that, the man tossed the pack across to him and smiled infectiously.

“Thank you” he beckoned back as he pulled out a bent cigarette and gestured for the lighter. The man tossed the lighter over without as much of a thought. Jack lit the cigarette and examined its ornate design, he noticed at the base lay a small inscription. He squinted inquisitively at the cursive lettering, but the darkness rendered the writing indistinguishable.

“It was my father’s once, likely his fathers too. It’s the last thing I really have now I suppose”. Jack studied the man intensely as he talked. “What will you do with it when we get there?” Jack asked.

“I don’t rightly know” he responded, “I know the rules, we all do” the man paused deep in thought, “but, it is the only thing that reminds me of before”.

“We must remember the past lest we forget it’ I believe is the famous words”, Jack replied as he tossed the lighter back.

“Good words” the old happy man responded. “I’ve heard gossip down the line that they frisk everyone when we arrive. They give us all those ugly jumpsuits like we are in prison or the like,” he peered from side to side to check if any were listening, “I don’t imagine there will be many places to hide it when that happens”. Jack nodded his agreement, but a stab of sadness hit him like an icicle at the prospect of losing the locket. He gave one final puff on the cigarette and stamped it out with his boot.

Morning came and with it the steam horn. The mass of people as far as the eye could see pivoted from a hive of angry bees to the meticulous single-file lines that ants form. The sun peaked out across the horizon finally and the uniforms came down the line passing out leathery hardtack which had apparently replaced food. “You can’t even call this food really can you” the old man retorted jokingly as the uniform handed him his ration. Although you could not see the glare through the opaque visor you could feel the coldness as he passed. Jack broke off a bite of the tack and sucked on it as he marched. It was flavorless as expected. Hours passed as the line winded down into a valley like a worm burrowing into the earth. Yet soon the line began to stir. People were turning to one another and whispering in fated apprehension. Mothers clutched their children; Husbands steadied their wives. Finally, when the buzzing had reached its peak, the old man grabbed him by the shoulder and pointed at a small speck of red that could be seen among the brown and grey pallet of the landscape before them. “Finally,” the man exclaimed. “Another day and I would have dug my own grave”.

The red speck slowly became visible as they went. At first just a dot, then a sausage, and finally a towering behemoth, crimson with gold legs. It looked almost cartoonish when fully visible like something out of a faded pulp magazine. As he drew closer still, he saw the barbed wire fences and the men in uniforms spaced every few yards apart, machine guns resting firmly at their waists. The time was coming Jack soon realized where he would have to decide. He dug in his pocket and clutched the locket in his hands. His palms sweaty with apprehension at its impending doom. The man behind him leaned over his shoulder and glanced at the locket too. Jack barely noticed. He was too busy trying to pry it open, if only to see her face one final time. Alas, it was no good. The man behind him squeezed his shoulder and pulled out his special lighter in acknowledgement. Jack understood. He turned to the man and gave him a look that was unmistakable. The old man nodded, and Jack nodded too. The line had finally reached the gates of the fence, huge furnaces raged on either side devouring all the possessions of the denizens already within the belly of the beast. People in front tore off their dirtied garb and threw on the stale papery jumpsuits which would likely be the last thing they wore. Jack noticed the woman in front peel off her blazer, pleated skirt, and underwear, scowling as she did. When it came time for her crocodile handbag however she froze. The uniform cocked his rifle in response. She glared back at him eyes stubborn and committed and a silence that seemed to last an eternity fell. After what seemed like an age the uniform pulled his rifle up and fired. The shot rang down the line as her limp body slumped to the ground. Complete silence followed, not one child screamed not one man or women flinched.

Finally, it was Jack’s turn. Two uniforms had already picked up the women in front and dragged her vacant corpse away. The uniform on his left pulled open a cast-iron door that squealed in retort and gestured for Jack to remove his clothes. He slumped over dejected and did as he was bid. Finally, it came time for the heart shaped locket. He could feel its weight increase a hundred-fold as it sat in his palm. Before him lay the roaring fire licking at the rest of his worldly possessions. The man behind him grabbed him swiftly by the hand and held out his lighter. He stared with affirmation as Jack thought about her face one last time and in unison, they both threw them into the flames. Was it relief Jack felt or resolution? The man behind him smiled and beckoned at the abyss before them. “Remember the past but not at the expense of your future young man” the old happy man muttered, and they marched up together this time, neither one more forward nor less behind.