FOUND ON THE DECEASED

FOUND ON THE DECEASED

BY

JJ ROSE

Space.

Silence.

These two words define their lives now. At least they would if they had spoken. And now one of them was dead, leaving her on her own, there was even less reason to talk.

Heart recalled….No.

Stop.

Heart is me. Why am I writing like this? I guess, in the absence of other humans, I am pulling away from myself, seeing myself both from the inner perspective, as I have to, and as another person.

In the absence, now, of other living people.

Seems I need to third-person myself, to objectify myself as a means of giving my own existence, as perhaps the last living human on earth, some sense of perspective and depth. Defining myself against another imagined self.

Interesting.

I’ll go on.

Heart recalled sunlight. She thought to herself, not for the first time, that the end of the world would be different to this. She imagined endless grey, no sun, dead things everywhere. Like in the movies. But it wasn’t like that. It was spring and it was sunny, warm after the gruelling winter that had likely killed Lockett. Everything was alive. Except humans. They, us, it seemed, were all gone. Except for one. Now. After Lockett.

All dead. Heart felt dead too. The strangest aspect of life is surely that even when the conscious mind feels zero desire to keep living - none - The body goes on, disregarding the mind’s wishes.

She so wanted to die. What was the point? But she couldn’t.

The city was beautiful in its stillness. Inanimate office windows were painted with late morning, scattering patches of light onto deserted pavements and black ribbons of road. Shadows, their darkness emphasising the bright light, making it brighter, cut ruler-edged shapes on the buildings and footpaths.

Wind. Dies.

Empty cars, buses, trams frozen in their tracks. Doors open, wobbling and shuddering as the breeze lifted and fell. But, each time she looked, they had moved. How was that possible?

Everything in place, except the people. Perhaps it was the memory of being here when it was alive, but she could still feel them bumping into her as she walked to get water from a kerbside tap. Was that a tut-tut, a curse? But there was no-one there.

Returning to the little park, where he had died, Heart shaped Lockett into a fetal position, suitable for passing to the other side. Not that she had any experience of that, despite all the deaths around her. She had no energy or desire to bury him. He was dead now. Why would he care what happens to his body?

She thought about taking the hinged Valentine’s trinket, blood coloured and silphium-like, from around his neck, but decided to leave him with it. The rules made no mention of what role it should have. What rules, or whose, she couldn't be sure. There was something inside it’s tiny body anyhow, and she was too tired and too drained to see what it was. Just another narrative she had no use for now.

She stood and offered some exhausted, half-baked thoughts, not much, and walked away. Didn’t really know him that well anyway.

She hadn’t gone far when she turned. What was that? Sounded like a voice. Someone’s voice. But no-one. Birds rehearsed songs and a spring breeze susurrated the trees. Must have been that. Sounds like a crowd. Maybe that was the voice.

She headed for a supermarket where she was pretty sure there would still be food, even after all this time. Tinned stuff was fine. Even some perishables could be risked as it had been so cold lately. And because it all happened so fast, the stock was never bought.

The automatic doors slid open for her to enter. Strange. Lights still on? Why? How? A lot cooler inside. Fridges and freezers still humming away, full of white-lit food.

Her feet shuffling on the shiny floor. The surfaces seemed to bounce every sound, amplifying them, like an audio magnifying glass. She could hear her own breath, the sound of her moving limbs as she reached for the cans of baked beans. She found the ones with the most salt and sugar - no reason to be diet conscious in an apocalypse. Comfort food is best for now. Stuffed them into her backpack. Grabbed some chocolate, biscuits, chips, a bottle of mineral water. That will last for days.

As she stuffed it all in her pack, she felt a crumpled piece of paper, like a card at the bottom of the bag. Gripped it between thumb and index finger and lifted it out. A business card. Hairdresser. A date and time. She had lost track of time, but guessed it would have been this week. She must have stuffed it in, panicking, with the other bits and pieces, when she left and hit the road, after everyone died, and the house began to stink. Did she seriously think it was still relevant?

She let it flutter from her fingers on a draft coming from somewhere, and it butterflied erratically for a while and then fell and jerked about on the floor. Dead. Well and truly.

Again. A voice? No-one.

She walked out of the supermarket and immediately she heard the sound of an alarm, a relatively gentle but nevertheless pointed bleep-bleep, bleep-bleep. Must still be set, the shoplifting alarm. She kept walking. A weight on her shoulder, a gripping feeling around her arm. What the fuck……

She doesn’t really remember what happened after that. She can’t remember how she got here. But she would like to leave. It was cold. Every surface was hard. It was too light, too many fluorescent bulbs strobing into her brain. Her head hurt. A door but it was locked. Bars, paint-chipped and mapped with rust. A place to sit about all there was inside. She sat. Head throbbing.

Where’s the backpack, all her stuff?

Least they left her with a pen and a pad. So she could write all this down. Seems important to do so.

Going back. It wasn’t that long ago. Everything was normal then. People out and about, moving around, working, playing, socialising, living. Then the lockdowns. Damned lockdowns. Days into weeks. Weeks into months. How could anyone take this? How will we get out of this? There seemed to be no answers.

Or, at least it seemed no-one could offer anything. Even our leaders were silent on the important things. Said nothing about what really mattered, what was really happening. She felt betrayed, angry, confused. Humanity was failing. Who wants to witness the end of their own species? She couldn’t take it.

It was maybe after 3 or 4 months, people began dying around her. Or, at least, she stopped being aware of them, stopped hearing them, stopped seeing them. She still wonders why she never got to go to their funerals. Why did they just disappear? What happened? Surely, when people die, especially those close to us, we get to mourn, to go through that process. But, no, they just ceased to be. So odd.

Wish they were still here, still alive.

So hungry now.

So tired.

May as well lie down.

So tired.

1199 words

[END]