Searching

The sky is a color of crimson that I could only imagine is from all the air pollution. The sun will be hiding soon, and I should too. I adjust my gas mask as I keep walking. There is no way I will make it back to Foxhole in time for the closing. I place my hand on a broken wall and hoist my body over it, feet landing firmly on the other side. It is not like this is the first time I have spent the night on the surface. I do enjoy it up here a lot more then in the bunkers. Foxhole is the one I am residing in and there are more around the area if you know where to look. There are people who gather materials and other salvageable things and bring them back to the bunkers to use for various tools and builds, I am one of them they call us collectors.

Who can blame people for not wanting to be up here it is not like the surface is pleasant. It is dusty and red in the day, there are mutations of animals that humans did not manage to take underground fast enough. I am not sure how the world got this way; it has been like this since I remember. I clutched my chest where a heart shape worn locked dangles. My mother tells me tales of the old world, plants like the ones underground sprouted everywhere and there were lakes of water clear you could swim in. I duck under a piece of fallen wall, this building must have been a school. I look around to see dusty desks sort of lined up facing a half-broken wall with a fallen black board. Some of the desks were toppled over some broken, I will stay here for the night before returning home in the morning.

I lay on my back looking up at where the sky should be, my lantern only lights up so much. I had arranged the desks so that if anything large would approach me while I sleep, I would probably hear it. I take a deep breath through my mask. The only thing I like about being in a bunker is that I can take this off. I adjust the gas mask on my face, so it sits more comfortably. I wonder what stars look like. Mother always says it is something she misses dearly from the old world. The sky would be dotted with many tiny lights and some people even made stories about them. I want to find people who know these stories. I roll to my side and prop myself up on my elbow, reaching into my breast pocket for an envelop with a handwritten letter inside I always carry on me. I carefully open it up with my gloved hands and remove the heart locked from my neck. I press a small button on the side, and it pops open to reveal a picture of my older sister. I hold the items close to my lantern so I can see them better as I begin to read out loud to myself in a hushed tone.

Elena,

I do not have much time to write this, know that I love you dearly. I have to go, and I am sorry I cannot tell everything for your own protection. All I can tell you is that it involves a cure for the surface. I know you love stories so I will leave you with one last one.

Once there was a weed in a garden. The weed was envious of all the other flowers wanting to be the center of attention for once. Viewed by everyone as beautiful and delicate. But the weed was not beautiful nor delicate. The weed was strong and grew easily, spreading its vines throughout the garden. The weed grew wildly and could reach much further than the other flowers.

“How do you grow so luscious and long? I wish for my petals to reach as far as your vines.” Asked a daisy to the weed.

“I am not sure daisy; I only wish to be as beautiful as a someday.” Replied the weed.

“Oh, but you are already so wildly beautiful, growing ever so freely and far, reaching new heights and meeting new friends. I only wish to be as wild and as free as you.” Said the daisy.

The weed and the daisy became good friends and because of this the weed was never ashamed to grow so wildly anymore.

Elena, I love you very much. I cannot promise you will see me again but if you do the world will be heading to a better place. I will leave you with this locket I have always had it with me, ever since you were little. You used to grab it with your tiny baby hands. I will miss you dear sister tell mother I love her.

With you always,

Maeve

I clutch the items close to my chest. I like to think the weed is me in the story. I do not believe she would want me to look for her. But… It is not like she can stop me. Why else would I become a collector? I close and clasp the locket back around my neck and tuck it down my thick jacket as I do every night. I shift to get comfortable while folding up the letter to place back in the envelop and into my breast pocket. I roll over on the hard ground and turn off the lantern to sleep.