The 8th floor balcony, the beach, and a father's love

The man tapped a red square to begin recording. Before, he would have never made a recording like this. He found it odd that so many people were making these types of videos. He was more old school then that, but that was before it happened. He recorded himself every night in his living room. He didn’t really know why. The best he could figure at least he was doing something if aliens ever came down, they could see what the last humans on earth were doing, at least in this part of the world. Otherwise, just another useless app on an even more useless mobile phone. He positioned the phone and tripod in front of the fireplace. A small fire burned in the background. He always thought that these winter recordings would sound more inviting with the sound of crackling wood as a backdrop of an otherwise eerily quiet environment.

“I had to shoot a dog this morning,” he began with a sigh, “they just haven’t been the same.” The man pours a few fingers of scotch from a rather fancy bottle and continues. “Perfectly friendly just the other day. He spotted me about 300 feet away when I entered the store down the street. When I came out, so did his teeth. I drew my pistol, he lunged, he lost.”

After a long pause, and a couple of healthy swigs from the glass, the man starts to pace the room, leaving and entering the frame of the video.

“I’m not really sure what to do with the rest of my day at that point,” he continued, “but I figured I take a drive down to the river to see what other animals have made their territory.” The pacing continues. “This required a few more firearms of course. Note! Automatic weapons required when you enter the city limits. They are everywhere. Dogs, cats, cayotes, birds and bears. You see, when you remove the greatest apex predator, it’s easier for the cayote to become such a pain in the ass. And the deer, holy shit, the deer. I only really wanted to get to Randall’s off 44 to get a couple bottles of Glenlivet. Little did I know, I had to put down a pack of vicious fuckin’ cayotes!”

He stopped pacing. He looked towards the window to the left of the fireplace. He squints. After about 5 seconds, he walks to the leather chair in the middle of the frame and takes a seat. He sighs as he gets into position. He aims the glass at the camera. “Cheers, who ever the fuck will find this. This is the struggle. Fighting off,” he breaks into a smile, “fighting off a pack of cayotes for some goddamn scotch,” he laughs a somewhat sinister laugh for a few seconds, “fuck.”

He pours another glass of the spirit. The bottle is about half full after he sets it down. He opens his mouth as to continue, but pauses, mouth open, again for a strange couple of seconds. He takes a sharp breath in, another pause, bringing his eyebrows tight to his eyes. He looks towards the window again, keeping the same concerned look. He releases the muscles in his face, returning a blank gaze back to the camera on the opposite side of the phone. Without breaking eye contact with the camera, he grabs the fresh glass of scotch and brings it to his lips. He takes a large swallow and replaces the glass on a coaster, resting on a small table, all while not breaking eye contact with the camera.

“Later, I, um, I, just came back here, I think. I probably took a nap. No, I took a nap, was a little tired driving back.” He chuckles, “pretty sure I hit some fuckin’ animal with the car on the highway. Ah well, that’s what happens when the animals take over the earth. Just drive slower, they don’t wreck the car as much.” He chuckles again. He drinks more drink. “I’ve got this place to myself now, I know. So, really, I fail to see the point of making these videos.” He thought about what he just said, pauses, and continues. “But, I guess, it does give me some sort of routine. I guess it has been like, around two months of doing this. I really got nothing better to do. Only so many cayotes you can kill before that becomes boring. Hey! I’m kidding, right? Yes, I’m kidding. They are just doing what I’m doing given the circumstances. What is it that I’m doing? Oh yeah, surviving. What a kick to the head, my friends.” The man reaches under his shirt and pulls on a locket. It’s heart shaped, about the size of a quarter. He takes hold of it, pulling the necklace tight, digging into his neck. He thought about breaking it off. His grip increased around the gold-colored locket, his face turning red. His lips curled into a tight point and his eyes widened. He held this pose briefly then loosened his grip and relaxed his face. A tear fell from his eye. He sniffed in once, then a long, slow exhale. He looked to his left. He looked to his right. He tilted his head back and rested on the chair. The fire still crackling, giving the room its only other sound. The man got up and went towards the camera. He reached to tap the stop button and stopped mid reach. He opened his mouth to say something, but again, another long pause. Finally, he breathed in again and said, “I only wish they were the ones here and not me. If this, if this is the fate of all mankind, why not have my kid make sense of it. My wife would probably have some answer. Not me. Not some old crank, fumbling around the wasteland of middle America. They deserved better.” He finished the video with another long exhale. He completed his reach to the stop button.

Exhausted, the man placed the phone and tripod to the side of the fireplace. He grabbed an iron rod and stoked the fire. Replacing the iron rod, he then closed the fireplace, softening the crackling sound. He stopped at the end-table to finish the glass of scotch. He corked the bottle and walked it to the adjacent room. He replaced the open bottle next to some unopen ones on the dining room table. His journey to his bedroom had only one other stop. The man put on a coat, opening the bedroom door to a balcony overlooking a deserted city. Only the light of the moon lit the streets, no other sounds except for the occasional howl in the distance. The 8th floor balcony provided a decent nighttime view. It was a particularly cold and a rather clear night. No clouds. The man took in some night air, coughing a little when letting it out. He scanned the landscape. Nothing. Not a single flicker of light. No mechanical hums, no cars, and no other people. He was truly alone. He ventured out to the balcony every night for only two purposes. One, check for signs of other human life. Two, refresh his memory of his departed family.

The second reason the man was on the balcony was the only reason he made the fire, recorded the videos, and continued to want to live. He wouldn’t know what to do if this little locket failed to activate when he opened it. It was a silly gift he thought at the time. The heart-shaped locket wasn’t just a picture frame, but a hologram projector that displayed a short video of the family on the beach a few years ago. The man’s memory mixing with the projected images of his family as the recording started to play.

“Dad, look!” The man’s daughter said with a giant grin pointing at her creation. It was a beautiful day at St. Pete Beach. The sun high in the sky and the light skipping across the calm gulf waters. The sound of the waves approaching and receding against the sand. The daughter got his attention again. “Dad, come here and look at my castle!” The Dad again looked up from his tablet and gave a smile. “No, Dad come here and admire my kingdom!” The man’s wife shoved her arm into his and pointed her chin towards the child and her beautiful sandcastle. She turned a page in her magazine. The man took out his earbuds and looked towards his wife, she mouthed “go”.

“I’m a comin’, pumpkin,” the man shuffled to his feet and started walking towards the girl about 10 yards in front of him. “What do we have here?”

“It’s my sand kingdom, daddy. Isn’t it wonderful?” The girl tugged at the man’s arm and brought him down to her level. “You see, it has three towers, a bridge, and a toat to protect it from the sea!”

“A toat?” Asked the father, playfully.

“Yeah, a toat, to protect all the people in the kingdom from the sea water.”

“You mean a moat, sweetie?”

“Yeah, yeah, daddy, a m-moat. Do you like it?”

“Oh, yes, sweetheart, this might be your best work.”

“Really?”

“Very much. You are your mother’s daughter. That’s for sure.”

“Because mommy makes buildings too?”

“That’s right, pumpkin. Just like you.” The man rose to his feet. The daughter was still admiring her work.

“You keep at it, my love. I’m going to see what mom brought for lunch.” The man started to walk towards his wife. He stopped and looked back at his daughter.

“I love you, daddy.” The girl looked away from her sandcastle and up towards her father.

The man closed the locket and slumped down onto the cold railing as the bleak, cold, dark night returned to the balcony. A tear ran down his face. He rubbed it down his cheek and covered his mouth. He stood upright and looked up.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

THE END