Strangers and Enemies

She walked outside being careful to observe the positioning of the sun, the clouds, and the sounds of wildlife. She had learned how to sense when the air wasn’t right. Nature seemed to shut down when the winds shifted in a dangerous direction. Even though she was miles away from the closest exclusion zone, being observant was the difference between surviving and a painful death, one that was dubbed The Bitter End, partially due to the excruciating pain its infected experienced, partially due to the bitter smell of those who were afflicted gave off once the toxins aggressively deconstructed their organs.

She had watched her mother as she writhed in pain for more than a month, waiting for the end to befall her. She watched members of their small protected community fall victim, one by one, sometimes 3 or 4 at a time, there was no surviving, only a slow painful agonizing death. Her father was not around. He was a journeyman, looking for work when the Great Devastation happened. Never hearing from him again, he was written off in their minds as one of billions dead. Only one percent of the population continued.

She ended up in a small community of families, who were all wary of each other. The communities were both a blessing and a curse. It seemed the only way to survive was to band together, however, as human nature has proven many times, you couldn’t always trust those who you lived with. People were your salvation, and, for many, people were your end. So, they came together and chose leaders, those who were smart, good looking, and seemed to have a grasp on this new world. Those that could help lead the community out of the darkness of the Great Devastation and, hopefully, lead them to the light at the end of the tunnel.

When strangers came to town, the lucky ones were able to talk individuals into trusting them always under the guise of secrecy, if they were found out, they were taken to the house on the hill where the leaders were assigned the task of determining whether they were worthy of leaving. For the most part, they were never seen again and, in many cases, those that housed them often disappeared as well. Very distressing, yet with all the harms and dangers and anxieties people were facing daily, what happened to the random stranger wasn’t something to concern themselves with. They simply decided not to give too much thought to those that weren’t part of their community. It was easy to follow the belief that all outsiders were the enemy. It, in effect, worked out for the leaders as well. They were able to control the information that was brought into their community. They held the power control the fear that had gripped all humans that lived after the Great Devastation and wielded the power like chains over the population. They controlled the food, the water, every aspect of daily lives under the guise of leadership and the community accepted it and were comfortable with it. After all, the leaders were the smart ones, the ones who knew how to help them survive.

As she cautiously walked to the small creek behind her house, she sensed that she was being watched. Every step she took, she looked in a different direction trying to spot the direction in which the gaze was coming from. As she filled her kettle with water, she looked around, still trying to determine what direction the uneasiness was coming from. Cautiously, she walked back to the fire directly outside of her door. Fire had become a necessary survival tactic and the necessary punishment. With the water over the fire preparing to boil, she walked inside her house.

It was when she was inside, she felt the presence of another. She did not see the individual at first. The dank darkness of the shelter excluded any light other than dim sunlight shining through the dirty windows. It was when she stepped to the middle of her single room that she noticed a figure in the corner.

She let out a scream which prompted the figure to shoot out from the corner to grab her and cover her mouth. At first, she fought, but the figure soon overpowered her. It was after seconds of being held by strong hands that she gave up the fight and succumbed to whatever fate was in store. To her surprise, the hand that covered her mouth was slowly lifted the other arm restraining her, locked around her midsection still held tightly.

“Be quiet, I won’t hurt you” The deep voice proclaimed

Speechless, she turned to face her attacker. It was a man, a very dirty man. He had a sour smell to him, one that smelled of earth, sweat, and excrement. His clothes were clad with dirt and holes, threadbare in areas where you could see the skin underneath. She noticed his teeth were only half there, and those that were decayed and black with a crust along his gum line.

Too scared to talk, she stared at him. Though fear shot straight through every inch of her, she was locked on his eyes. Something about them calmed her. They were bright, which seemed out of place on the dirty man. They held the blue of the sky with the white of the clouds. They had feminine features and would best be described as kind. Something in them told her she would be alright; this wasn’t how she would die.

“I need a place to rest” the old man said, pointing to his half-shoe, constructed out of what seemed to be an old boot and pieces of cardboard. As she looked, she noticed a sore on his foot, one that had overtaken half of the arch of his foot. “I just need to rest. I’ll pay you.” As he spoke, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a heart shaped locket. “Yours, if you let me clean up and sleep. I have no intention of harming you.”

Still speechless, she drew away from him. His hold on her falling away. She stood in the room quiet, looking over him, but still staring into his eyes. Something there, she just couldn’t describe it. The only response she could muster was to shake her head slowly, while still staring intensely into those deep blue eyes. He laid the locket on the floor in front of her and backed away slowly. She picked it up to examine it. As she tried to open it, her fingers and nonexistent nails did a poor job of positioning in a way that would release the clasp. Items such as this were not to be held in personal possession. After the Great Devastation, all valuables were surrendered to the town leaders so that they could provide for the community. She continued to stare at the small keepsake for many seconds before she finally gave up when the boiling water outside caught her attention.

“I will get some water for you” She said as she nodded toward the far wall, where there was some cloth folded enough to make a partially padded seat.

He watched her exit the room and moved slowly toward the wall. He moved cautiously, not letting her out of his site for a second. She couldn’t tell if he watched her out of curiosity or fear, but then again, it didn’t matter. She knew what she had to do. As she prepared to lift the kettle from the flames, she took an old piece of red cloth from inside the door and dipped it in the water. She wiped her face and her hands and then hung it out on an old flagpole that jutted out from the side of her shack. When she did this, the fabric unraveled and became a long and flowing piece of vibrant color in the wind, as red as a rose and as light as a feather.

She returned to her intruder with a dull dirty white rag and a bowl of water. After she laid it down, she went to the portion of the one room shack that was the designated kitchen. She pulled out a small piece of bread with green mold forming on the edges and walked it over to the man. She kept a close eye on him.

As he wiped himself, the water in the bowl turned a dark murky brown as his skin turned pink. In silence, they sat there for what seemed hours. The more she watched him, the more she took in his calm demeanor and gentle strokes of the rag on his skin, his kind eyes. She almost mustered enough courage to talk when the door on her shack exploded.

She jumped, even though she knew what to expect. 5 men in black came rushing into her dwelling. Within a second, they were on the man, 4 of them carrying him away, out the same door they blew in.

When she jumped, the locket, her payment for ensuring safety, bounced out of the pocket in which it was held. Upon hitting the floor, it opened laying face down on the ground. Not noticing the eyes watching her, she bent over to pick it up. As her eyes gazed onto the inside of the locket, her mouth dropped open. Before she could process, a hand jutted out blocking the locket from her view.

“What do you have there?” asked the remaining man as he grabbed the locket from her. He was small, round in the mid-section, with a protruding nose.

“He gave it to me,” she said in a shrill voice, “The man there, he made me take it!”

As he looked it over, his gaze rested on the inside of the locket. His eyes widened as he processed its contents. Almost immediately he reached for her. Before she knew what was going on, he had her arms behind her back, marching, almost carrying her outside her house. She was put onto a cart, the same cart the old man was thrown on. As their eyes met, the cart began to move in its journey to the house on the hill.

A large man approached the other holding the locket. “What do we have there? “ he asked curiously. He reached for it, then proceeded to read it when it was in his hands. On the left side, in small writing, it read “It is a man’s own mind, not his enemy or foe,” his eyes naturally moved to the right piece of the locket, “That lures him to evil ways. – Buddha”

Both men stood there looking onward, up towards the house on the hill, the only house still standing in the community. Smoke from the newly built fire was starting to curl up into the sky, like fledgling clouds yearning to reach the deep blue sea above. They smiled, both proud of the work they had done, yet, somewhere in their depths, there was a tinge of uneasiness. Not enough to make them question what they had done, but enough to make them dismiss it, chalking it up to the weakness of all humanity. They were the strong, reasonable ones, it was those who gave into it that were doomed.