Reminiscing

The only thing I remember about the blast is the heat. I’m sure there was a sound loud enough to pop eardrums and shatter glass. There must have been a light brighter than a thousand suns, and a wave of force strong enough to rip buildings off their foundation. At the moment, these must not have felt important. I just remember heat like the worst sunburn I’d ever had, then waking up in the rubble feeling like I had been microwaved. I lied alone, covered in blisters, most of my clothes incinerated except for the heart locket my mother had given me on her deathbed. “Watching over you” was inscribed on the side, protecting a picture of us from when I was young and she was healthy. Its superheated metal left a small heart shaped scar on my chest.

The only thing I remember about the first group of survivors I found is their hopelessness. The voice on the radio they were huddled over in the debris of their half-ruined homes must have been saying something important and devastating in order to garner such a response, but it must have slipped my mind. I can only picture the distraught looks on the faces of the survivors as they learned that the world had died, and they had died with it.

The only thing I remember about our first community is the fear. I know we attempted to rebuild some houses, to limited success, and this must have given people hope. But fear dominated. We were afraid of everything. Fallout, other groups of survivors, the lack of resources, we were afraid of it all. We were even afraid of each other, all of us strangers. For some reason they made me their leader. I must have been more together back then. I remember my ever-present fear, that I would let them down, that at the end of the day I was just one man and there was nothing I could do to really make things better.

The only thing I remember about the bandit raid is the screaming. There must have been other sounds, gun fire, the crackling of fires, collapsing houses. There must have been heat from the fires, although compared to the blast I’m sure it was hardly noticeable. I must have felt something, seeing everything I had worked on stolen or burning, but over time emotions fade and these things have slipped my mind. Everyone I had grown to trust had been killed or gravely injured. I alone was untouched, other than a single small bullet lodged in my locket. As I walked through the remains of my community, over the bodies of the dead and the barely living alike, I only remember their screams of pain, of fear, of anger, ringing through my mind. I was just one man. There was nothing I could do.

The only thing I remember from when I started drinking is how peaceful it made everything. It was easy to find alcohol if you stayed on the outskirts of the blast zones, especially if you didn’t care about the radiation. I remember the warmth inside, much better than the heat that blistered my skin and left me scarred. I remember how it made all my pain feel distant, like if I didn’t think about it I could convince myself it was all just a bad dream. I know that I eventually traded my locket in some encampment for some liquor, but I have no memory of the event itself. They likely melted it down to make bullets. But it's not like that matters now. There’s no need to watch over the dead.

The only thing I know about the present is that I’m dying. I’m not sure what finally did me in. Maybe it was the radiation. Maybe it’s the poison I’ve been drinking. Maybe I was shot in another raid and I’m more drunk than I thought, so drunk I don’t even remember. Wouldn’t really surprise me. All I know is that I won’t be seeing another sunrise. But as I reminisce, my thoughts blurring even more than usual, I have to say, it could have been worse.