Finding Paradise

It began with a drop. A single drop, innocuous in appearance, its shimmery golden color barely hinting at the terrible power within. That one beautiful drop of toxic waste falling into the vast oceans should not have had such a profound effect. The clear aquamarine waters of the Bahama Islands should not have roiled into a sickly green; bubbling and boiling not unlike a witch’s cauldron in a children’s story. The dark, icy waters of the arctic should not have turned black, lava hot and thick as tar. Within days no ocean was left unscathed. Aquatic wildlife died off in droves. Soon, only the hardiest of creatures survived. The ones that lived far beneath the reach of humans. These twisted nightmares were unfit for human consumption, and so no human dared to try to pull them from the toxic depths.

The world panicked. Then it burned.

Riots broke out as desperation for water and food turned brother against sister, husband against wife, mother against child. When the storms came the clouds carried acid rain and sulfur, destroying the few crops that remained. The planet stank of death and misery. And this was all before the infernos arrived.

Fire consumed city after city, people and buildings burning as flames raced through the urban jungles. Survivors fled into the country, but few were able to keep ahead of the monstrous blazes. Trees moaned as they were consumed by cackling, hungry flames. Animals shrieked in fear and pain as they were set alight. It seemed that the devastation would never end; the deadly embers would not be satisfied until all had been decimated. When the fires finally, finally died away only scorched earth and broken dreams remained.

The few that had made it through the destruction banded together. Long gone were they days of the riots and murder. The survivors had lived because they were smart – they knew that the best chance of survival in this harsh new world was to work together. Some among their number had been farmers who knew how to work the land. Others had worked with technology and set out to find any remnants – communications, comforts, travel – that could be salvaged into useful tools. There were depressingly few. Still others had been builders, who were able to put together primitive shelters for the new clan. Slowly, surely, they built a new life. Small crops and hardy trees were able to take root in the mostly barren lands. Water remained their most precious commodity.

It was the dream of every young person in the tribe to be selected to be a Finder. Finders travelled the land in search of water. They faced unimaginable dangers, for the land was harsh and did not care for the lives of humans. Beyond the challenges the Earth provided there were roving bands of other humans who were also searching for water. Many of these bands were unscrupulous and would not think twice about killing a Finder to steal water. Where a single Finder would not be able to carry enough of the precious liquid to sustain the tribe back across the wastelands, the Finders travelled in pairs. This allowed one to return to the village, which would pack up and move to the new source of water. The one who was left behind would guard the source. It was when the pair split up that they were most vulnerable. Fools did not survive the wastelands, and thus only the best of the best were chosen for this prestigious position. Fortunately – or unfortunately – the positions came open often.

Today was yet another Choosing Day. All of the potential Finders had completed a series of tests meant to weed out those who the deserts would destroy. There was no shame in failing, but Lydia had not come here this day to fail. Fingers gripped the heart shaped locket she wore around her neck. The burnished silver was the only remaining piece of her grandmother, who had been lost to the sands of time several years before. Her grandmother’s locket contained a picture of a handsome man standing in front of a stream in the woods. The bright colors of the forest and crystal steam were an endless source of fascination to Lydia, as she had never seen such beauty in person. She had been born into a world that was scorched and blackened. The only color to be found was in the plants that thrived in defiance of the desert world. Even the people were dull and colorless – skin washed out by the sun and a thick coat of dust killing the color of their hair. Even the pigmentation of their eyes, dimmed without hope, offered no comfort. No, the faded shades of Lydia’s world could not compare to the luminous hues her grandmother once knew.

The teenager knew it was foolish, but she dreamed of a brighter world. One with color, an abundance of food, and peace for her people. She dreamed that she would find this mystical land tucked away somewhere far off. She would lead her people to this new haven, one like the man in her grandmother’s picture lived in. She did not dare to voice these secret desires, as she knew it would ruin her chance to be selected. So, she kept her silence and held her breath, the heart shape locket pressing deep into her skin as the elder began to speak.

“Lydia and Allen, you have been selected. See Marian for your supplies. You will leave at dawn.”

She had been chosen! Letting out a long breath, the girl nodded solemnly. Tucking her token back under her shirt Lydia made her way to her partner. Allen appeared to be an unremarkable man of average height, two or three years her senior. But he was clever and quick, which boded well for their collaboration. Clasping hands briefly, a sign of silent acceptance of their partnership, the pair made their way to the quartermaster. It did not take long before both were sporting rucksacks, each containing a sleeping bag, rations, and a lantern. There was a little room left for their own belongings, but only the necessities. Each Finder was also given a canteen filled with water, but only one. They would be responsible for finding their own nourishment once they left the village.

When the first light crept over the horizon Lydia and Allen set off. They travelled mostly in silence, occasionally speaking of unimportant matters before falling quiet again. Neither Finder let their eyes stray from their surroundings, for doing so might mean falling prey to bandits or the landscape itself. Or, even worse, they might miss out on a source of water.

Days passed, turning into nights, and then back into days. Occasionally they found small sources of water, puddles barely large enough to fill their canteens. The monotony began to wear on them both, and conversation became a thing of the past. Lydia retreated inside herself, daydreaming about the oasis she would find. Blues and greens dominated her thoughts with splashes of orange. She did not know what the other colors looked like, but the bright orange shirt of the man in grandmother’s locket was vibrant and stood out against the background of the trees and stream. Lydia often found herself pulling out the locket to gaze at the treasure within. The man rested against a large, hollowed tree, the stream winding its way merrily through the woods in front of him. Brown hair and blue eyes framed a joyful smile. The teenage Finder could not imagine what joy felt like, but it looked beautiful. Perhaps, she thought, when I find our new world I will know joy.

But finding a new world would not be easy.

The Finders had made their way to the ruins of a large city. The broken, gutted remains were a haunting reminder of the civilization that once lived and had been lost. Carefully they picked their way across twisted scraps of metal, shattered glass crunching beneath their feet. Lydia swore she could smell decay, even though the corpses of this shattered hell had long since rotted away. Shivering, Lydia knew they could not linger. Death was in the air. However, Allen insisted they look around, in case there was anything to find. There was indeed. Danger.

It seemed that Lydia and Allen were not the only denizens who had made their way into the ruins. They were quickly surrounded by another tribe, men and women carrying crude spears and blunt instruments caked in blood. One man, the leader, was wearing a human skull that was partially caved in on his head. The man spoke to them, an ugly, guttural sound that neither could understand. Stepping closer to her partner Lydia tapped his hand. Allen tilted his head slightly. Lydia hissed one word, barely audible.

“Run.”

Both Finders took off, each running in a different direction. The tribe, howling like a pack of wild animals, ran after them. Lydia’s heart was pounding in her ears, sweat dripping into her eyes, blurring her vision. Her lungs burned, breaths coming out in desperate gasps as she sought freedom. She did not know how long she fled; she was barely aware of the howls of triumph coming from a distance. She only knew she had to lose her pursuers. Minutes or hours could have passed as she raced out of the dead city. A crumbling bridge stood between her and freedom, and she did not hesitate. Long hair flying behind her, the Finder crossed the broken path, chunks of stone falling into the dry riverbed beneath her. The tribe giving chase did not follow her; whether out of self-preservation or the unease of leaving their territory she did not know. Nor did she stop, despite how taking a breath felt like swallowing gravel. Her shaking legs felt as though one more step would cause her to fall. But she did not stop until the city was long behind her. Then Lydia collapsed.

Her, rucksack, her canteen, her partner… they were all gone. She did not know what fate had befallen her comrade, but she was not hopeful. She laid there in the dirt and allowed her tears to fall. Tears for the quiet man who had become her companion, for the tribe she had left behind, and tears for her dream. All she had wanted was to find safety and peace. She had failed. Allowing her eyes to close, Lydia gave up. A cool breeze brushing across her face and drying her tears had her eyes snapping open. She was greeted with the most beautiful sight.

Green.

It was everywhere, in so many shades she could not name them all. The sounds of water rushing against stone danced in her ears, and she gazed greedily at the clear blue water. Its soft scent mixed with pine and oak and tickled her nose. She had done it! She had found paradise! Laughing hysterically Lydia wondered if this was joy. Crawling over to the stream she drank deeply, almost missing movement among the trees. Warily, she watched a man and woman approach. They were both wearing brightly colored garments. The man’s top was orange.

“Welcome home, darling,” the woman said warmly. Her bright blue eyes seemed awfully familiar. Strange, Lydia, thought, fingers clutching her pendant, she has a locket like mine.

“We have been waiting for you, Lydia,” the man stretched out a hand. Lydia took it, feeling safe between these not-strangers. Wrapped in their warm embrace Lydia followed them deeper into the woods, a hollowed tree standing guard.

Years later another Finder from the tribe Lydia and Allen had left behind would come across a small skeleton laying in the middle of a dead field, a burnished heart shaped locket still clutched tightly in its grasp.