Mint Cleanse

Once upon a time, everybody wanted to be thin. People spent a fortune on getting clean, and smelling great.

Now look at them. They're thin, alright. Grubby they may be, but do they ever smell fresh. That sunken-cheeked look really gives you big eyes as well.

If Neyah had thought about the end of the world, she might have imagined it grey and bleak. Choked with eternal dust and concrete. She never would have imagined that Green would claw its way back and grip the earth - grip them all - in a strangle-hold.

There were more fresh bodies today, and nobody to take them away. Someone had arranged them in a row, each in the same stately pose, and then found something to cover them with. People looked through death's row with listless eyes, or else carefully looked away. They had little energy to do more.

The blast had killed almost all the plant life. Mint was one of the only things left, and one of the most abundant. It crept through ruined buildings, and threaded along cracked pavements. Bunches of it shoved its way into broken windows. Obnoxious, like mobs of teenage boys used to be.

Mint laughs at the memory of wheat. There are no tomatoes, anymore. No berries.

She brews it in the dented pot, steam curling into the cold air. Her children watch, waiting for their share of the thin broth. It's barely more than scented water, really, but it's all they have left. Cheeks jut where they should curve, an admonishment of her failure. A mother's first job is feed her children. Those hollow caves where smiles should be cast long shadows under their eyes. Neyah finds it hard to look her failure in the face, yet cannot tear her eyes away.

At least the mint suppresses the hunger. Just a little. Hungry tummies don't sleep. The flavour is strong. Maybe it tricks your mind into believing you've eaten something substantial? A small mercy.

Neyah stirs in a little extra, thankful tonight for that sharp taste. In sleep, they look more peaceful. Neyah can hardly take her eyes off them. She'd thought, tonight, she'd watch the sunset, but this... This is better.

She cradles the cooling dregs in her hands, drinking in the sight of them. At five and seven, they should still have that rounded baby-faced look, but the mint diet has done for that. It has aged them far beyond their years.

Another way to look young, Neyah mused. Age the children.

Everywhere, the starving sip their own Dead Man’s Tea, clutching tin cups like the lifelines they certainly are not. Quite the opposite. That pleasant tingly scent, so good at covering up other tastes and smells, has become a harbinger.

Mint spreads everywhere, clinging and curling. As resilient in the lungs and gut as out there in such wretched conditions. It's relentless and invasive, swallowing the remnants of what humans leave behind. A palette cleanser, if you like. A purge.

Neyah does look out to the sunset now. It occurs, as her eyes droop and her heart slows, that it isn't a choke-hold after all. It's an embrace. It's a plant based world, now.

She looks back at the still forms of her children before the light fades.

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Thank you, as always, for reading!

Sorry this one was a bit of a bummer! It's nice to think, I think, that the end of people isn't the end... But I know not everyone will see it that way. This was a response to my own Dollar Challenge for this month: Life finds a Way.

See you tomorrow!