Blessed Be The Young Vandals

…Blessed be the violent young vandals…For they shall inherit the Black Earth…

He could still see a slither of orange light through the slits of his eyes in the darkness but they stung, so steadily and with his breath slowing, he gently closed them again.

… Did she jump?...

Well… jump… or stay on the bus? Either way it really didn’t matter. It was just that this way they could die together in dignity. He felt around him but could only feel the gooey liquid that was a combination of oil and mud. Muddy oil that sat in rivers over the dry land just waiting for a spark to light it up and then it would leap up like an athlete for a massive explosion. Black oily rivers of mud being the dormant fuse.

Another asteroid came down out of the sky and with it some light and Johnny could see for a second through his stinging eyes. And what he saw was a wasteland of that black mush tar for as far as his swollen eyes could see.

“Ro..sie?...” He tried to say her name. But, his mouth was dry. Too dry. And he could not work out if he was hot or cold? His skin was hot from the explosions and the oily river of their residue but since he’d jumped from the bus he had begun to experience an uncontrollable shivering.

Oh, he knew this was the way things would go. No need for the elderly now. No food even for the young! And the young vandals had grouped together in loud riotous groups with ramshackle rifles and bombs and hung themselves off the side of doorless buses. Buses that went who knew where? Buses that would sweep up the elderly or the ‘priviledged’ as they were now known. Those that had ‘had it good’ for all of their lives. Those that had not experienced any of the hardships known to their ancestors, like the 2nd World War or the Depression. The elderly, that believed that they were the ‘entitled’ ones. Hunted down and ferried out on rusty buses of the 3rd World War that was so reminiscent of the 2nd because these young hoodlums had never heard of any of the atrocities organised by the man known as Hitler.

Shivering and shaking, he lay himself back on a rock behind him that was warm but not too hot. He had decided that she must not have jumped afterall, for he could not sense her presence. And even though they were holding hands near the door of the bus, she must have hesitated, he thought. She must have had second thoughts…

… was she remembering a time when I had been unfaithful?...

Hesitated … and then finally… let go.

The next explosion was right next to him and went up like a fountain of orange and red water with into the sky. It was the aftermath from the gas that hung low in the air that filled his lungs now. And knowing this, he tried desperately hard to hold his breath… but…

…Where are you, my love?...

And while he could still function, for he knew time was short, he reached down into the wet pocket of his pants to find it. The locket. Her heart shaped locket. And there in the black wasteland on a rock tarred with oil and mud, he let his mind go back to when they too were young sweethearts and she lay with him. His rough hands moving along the tracks of her smooth outer thighs, into the crevice of her beautiful hip and out again.

“I’m right with you Rosie…” He clasped the smooth metal thing in his pocket.

A bus had spotted him and was closing in on him quickly with a reign of gunfire. But, Johnny was already gone.

He had a hold of her hand and they were headed for another place.