Heart-Shaped Locket

One face, young and unafraid. His smile, as pure as the white butter he liked on his toast, as hopeful as a kitten at a pet store. His hair, as dark as the nighttime skies above Manhattan. His eyes, as silvery as the spoon he once turned into a boomerang, much to the grievances of his parents, as sparkling as the mineral water he detested.

The face of James Leonardo Henderson.

A face whose smile was now dimmed and nihilistic, whose hair was greasy and streaked with white, whose silvery eyes were now dimmed and extinguished.

Where had the man in his locket gone? He knew why — the screaming deer in the middle of what used to be Times Square, the shivering humans huddling around campfires where they would’ve strutted only a few years ago, the sky now permanently enshrouded in clouds — but looking at the heart-shaped locket always made him ask that question.

It had never been a nuclear war, as sci-fi writers and politicians alike had feared. Mother Nature never gave them the chance to even try, erupting volcanoes like a child blowing bubbles in their soda, sending them caterwauling and screaming into a volcanic winter unlike anything humankind had seen in recent history.

Countless people had been killed in just the first day, and some countries had even ceased to exist. The freezing temperatures decimated some, while ash and debris took care of others. Though they'd heard nothing of it, it was rumoured that countries like Iceland and New Zealand were completely, well, gone. But he'd stopped feeling scared about a week ago. No use being scared when you're going to be stuck in this mess for probably the rest of your life.

But he didn't exactly have any other emotions either. He was just... numb.

James supposed he ought to be grateful he’s even still alive, the government having foreseen this disaster months in advance as seismic activity started to act up more and more. It meant he’d had a shelter to go to. It had also meant he’d watched others get denied at the gate, mostly elderly folk. He’d gotten lucky — his parents had died over a year before everything had happened. Others had not, losing their parents, relatives, some even lovers. A few gold-diggers had merely laughed as they inherited their elderly billionaire partners’ riches, free to start a fabulous new life…

Whenever life did return to normal, at least.

His parents had lived through a number of great disasters prior to their deaths from old age, and, if anything, he attributed his lengthened survival to them, even though they were gone, because they’d taught him what they’d learned from those many disasters. From sickness prevention (though his mask was a filtration one — he needed to protect his lungs from the volcanic ash) to how to start a fire, to even growing certain foods, his Kansas-born farmer parents had taught it all.

The food-growing wasn’t something he needed to know right now, though, not with the soil buried under layers upon layers of ash, and the air as poisonous as… well, poison. No, James had realized something much worse: He desperately needed the knowledge of how to make friends, find a partner, find someone to spend the rest of his life with. Even in the months they’d spent underground, James had spent it reading and watching what videos he could, too afraid to try and interact with anyone, in case they were swept away by either a failure in their shelters’ structure or by the frequent bouts of illness that had killed over a hundred people. Over half of the people in their shelter at the time.

Now, though, he was alone, and that thought scared him more than the volcanic eruptions, the constant tornadoes that had raged near his Kansas home, the tsunami that had swamped Florida, ever had, because all of those were things he could survive. Yet the thought of going a few more months without someone’s touch hurt him more than the bitterly cold wind did as it struck his locket, the ice-cold metal making him gasp as it almost burned him. It even broke through his sense of numbness, because humanity was meant to band together. And yet all his shelter had done was fight each other for resources, or hide amongst everyone.

There had been a number of shelters built in the decade prior to the Great Eruption, as many people called it now. Some countries got relatively lucky, being able to build shelters for at least half their people, while others failed to prepare for even a tenth. Some countries had been wiped out entirely, apparently, but they wouldn’t know that until the volcanic winter cleared up.

The United States had built enough for a third of their population. Canada had built a few more, enough for half. Certain regions, however, never stood a chance, like the areas around Yellowstone and the entire West Coast.

There was a major shelter southwest of here though, James reminded himself. Washington DC was still somewhat operational, having successfully crafted a dome. And so he decided that he was going to head there, even if his journey ended in failure.

He’d been an active young man in his past, as his locket constantly reminded him. And even if he didn’t find the partner or friend he was looking for, he was done being scared. It was time to get out of New York. Yes, it would take him some time, especially if he couldn’t find something like a bicycle, but at least regaining some independence would be worth the whole trip. Even if he died along the way.

<Picture sourced from Roger Ebert's review of "The Road" (2009), which many theorize to be set during a volcanic winter. I wished to show the bleakness of the city during the story, but I could not remember any other post-apocalyptic films off the top of my head that look this dark.>