The Beginning of the End

Sixteen years. It has been sixteen years since I last saw my father, and even now, the burning image of his death continues to linger in the back of my mind. I twist the heart-shaped locket between my ragged bitten nails. Was it my fault? Had I prayed to God any harder, maybe someone would have heard my desperate plea for his life. That was the biggest lie I've ever told myself. No one was listening to us or watching over us as we struggled to survive. As for my mother, well, I have no idea where she is. Last I had heard of her; were only rumors of a raven-haired woman appearing with a locket similar to mine asking for some shelter somewhere near Boston, Massachusetts. Unfortunately, I've always been one or two steps behind her. All I know is that she's been busy.

Leaving breadcrumbs for me to follow, people for me to talk to whenever I got there. If only I knew what she was thinking or what her plan was. Sometimes I get nightmares involving her. She'll speak to me in riddles, and before I can even ask her anything, she always walks away. One dream, I lost my voice, and we only stared at each other, her eyes glowing with chaos. That was the last one I've had of her in a while. I'm still looking, still hoping for a clue. I've been in Boston for a week and have still had no luck.

I look towards the sky, dark and foreboding. Heavy clouds foreshadow the thunderstorm about to hit, which means I need to find somewhere to squat for the night. Quickly. I run down the dilapidated concrete streets until I find an old fire-scorched building. I ripped off the wood that boarded up one of the windows and climbed inside, careful not to cut myself on the broken glass. I look around the pitch-black room, with only the lightning from outside to shed some light. I keep walking until I make it to the farthest wall away from the window. That's what you're supposed to do during storms such as these, right?

Lately, I haven't been so sure of what to do during these sorts of situations. I can't help but think about how nice it would be to have a mother or father telling me what to do when I'm afraid. How nice it would be to sit in a warm, comfortable house, watching bad TV with the people you love. The cold, wet chill of rain continued to reach me in the dark, foul-smelling room, reminding me that I was nowhere near home. The people I loved were either dead or missing. One of them was busy playing games, running after something I couldn't even begin to understand. I am alone. Bitterly, alone. After everything I have been through these past five years, a little rain should be nothing for me to worry about. I'm not afraid of the storm... I'm fearful of what it brings.

I'm scared of the whispers I hear while it storms. I inhale deeply, trying to relax my nerves, but the smell of decay is too much for me to handle. I lurch forward, coughing and spitting up bile while trying to catch my breath. "What's a pretty little thing like you doing, squatting with a dead body in the corner like that?" I jumped up in surprise at the low voice of a stranger. The sound of a lighter produced a small flame that settled onto the wick of a candle. The light glowed and illuminated the face of a young man, perhaps a few years older than me.

"Did you kill him?" He inquired, taking long strides in my direction, only to pass by me and crouch over what I assumed was a corpse that had been long forgotten.

"N-no. I didn't... it must have been there before I came into town. I uh... " I fumbled over my words. He glanced at me sideways but smirked as he looked back at the body. "Of course. I should've guessed. My mistake." I could hear slight amusement lacing his voice. Not wanting him to leave, I tried to shake off any fear I had about speaking to mysterious strangers. "I came in here to avoid the storm. Why are you here?" I forced myself to ask, not really eager to hear the answer, as I watched him rummage through the dead man's pockets. He snickered, a grin spreading across his face as his eyes lit up from reflecting the candle's flame. "Why, I'm here for you, of course. Seline sent me with a message."

I froze, and we sat in complete silence for only a moment, yet it felt like an eternity.

"How... how did you find me? How do you know who I am? How do you know my mother? Where is she? Who are you? What did she want you to tell me, and why couldn't she come to find me herself?" I couldn't stop the flood of words coming from my mouth. I had too many questions and not enough answers. The man stayed quiet as word vomit spilled from my cracked lips. "Silver..." He softly spoke my name. "I was told to only deliver a message to you. Nothing more." He looked away as he spoke, not looking me in the eyes anymore. Hearing him say my name made my hammering heartbeat quiet down. The ringing in my ears slowed to a complete stop, and I stopped speaking so I could listen to him. "Okay," I whispered, afraid to talk too loudly because I could feel my voice begin to break.

The mysterious man stood up slowly and came to stand beside me as he leaned up against the wall. He stared straight forward out the window watching, as the heavy rain poured and raged outside before us. " You have the key inside your heart; find me where God made art." One of the riddles from my dreams. I turned to him, still silent. He glanced at me as he stood straight and fixed his coat. "That's all I had to say. I'm sorry." He said as he started walking towards the rusted door, trying to leave. "Wait! Please! Don't-don't leave me!" I scream out at him, desperately wanting him to stay. I don't want to be alone anymore. He stopped for a moment, thinking. "Why should I stay?" He asked, voice low and somber. " I need to find her, my mother, Seline. I can't do it on my own... not anymore. I need help." I begged him, prayed even. If only he would stay; maybe I can make better progress. I could have a better chance of finding my mother.

He opened the door and stood there as the rain blew inside, misting us both. I could hear the sneer in his voice. "If only that were enough." He tipped his black fedora before walking out into the storm. I wish I had chased him. I was too shocked to move my legs. By the time I could control myself, the stranger was already long gone, and I was left alone, once again.

My father used to tell me that the day after a storm would always bring more beauty than the day before. I'd hate to tell him that he's wrong, but as I look down at my drenched, muddy boots, soaked from the flood the storm last night created, I can't help but think he must've been crazy to think that. As I trudge through the flooded streets with nothing but my small backpack and the clothes on my back, my mind can't help but wander back to the night before. That message my mother sent me... stuck in my mind repeating itself over and over. Where did God make art? That makes no sense to me. It sounds like she's talking about nature. However, nature is everywhere, so what else could she be talking about? The world hasn't been the same since the 'meteor' hit us. I air quote 'meteor' because personally, I don't believe that it was one.

After the so-called meteor hit New York City, people started to disappear...one at a time. No one knew what was happening, and the media proclaimed the city dead. There was no explanation, except for the occasional news story about how the meteor might have released a toxic gas that enveloped the area and poisoned its residents. That kind of shallow answer only worked for a little while. Then others began to disappear. Not in New York, but other places around the world. No one could explain the disappearances anymore. There were too many people missing. Eventually, the media couldn't take the heat anymore. There were riots outside of news stations, outside of government official buildings. Newscasters were being stalked and murdered in their homes by disgruntled people panicking and frantic trying to find out what happened to their loved ones. Everything began to shut down. People were still disappearing out of thin air. Now, this is what the world has become within the past five years.

You might have a lot of questions about the timeline. Let's make it short and sweet. Let's start in 2020. Corona Virus. The year I was born. My mom disappeared from the hospital the day I was supposed to go home, so it was just my father and me from the get-go. Fast forward ten years. My father gets murdered by a robber who broke into our home while he was trying to protect me. I was able to get away thanks to his sacrifice and was homeless for about a month. I was then found by the authorities and placed in a foster home. My foster parents weren't terrible people or anything like that, but they were barely ever home. David worked a lot, and Cindy was always running out while he was gone so she could cheat on him with other men behind his back. Well, a bit over a year after I was placed in their care, the shit hit the fan, and they separated from each other. I turned 12 soon after. I ended up staying with David during the separation because Cindy didn't have a job. I spent a lot of time wishing that I was somewhere that I wasn't.

Let's jump forward eight years. I move out on my own at twenty years old. I got my bachelor's degree in psychology and became a counselor. Things were finally starting to look up for me, despite everything I've been through. Then, the meteor hits New York. I begin receiving strange letters from my mother, whom I've never met nor heard from before. Things start to decline in Bend, Oregon, which is where I used to live. More people are missing. I lose my other best friend, Alison. One day she just vanished. I leave my home and begin to decipher the letters my so-called mother has been sending me. Five years pass by while trying to find her, and here I am. Twenty-five years old, and still shit out of luck, bitter and alone, searching for a woman I barely know.

I keep walking down the street. Feet soaked, bitter-hearted, and feeling hopeless. Nothing but slowly rotting buildings, abandoned, rusting cars, and cracked concrete streets flooded with rainwater. As I take in my surroundings, a beautiful metal arch catches my eye. "Botanical garden..." I read out loud. "Why not?" I ask myself as I approach the sign. I walk through the delicately twisted arch and see a woman facing away from me, watching the draping water spray from the marble fountain, surrounding by the most lively plants I've seen in the past five years.

"You've finally caught me. Took you long enough." Her voice was delicate but held a condescending tone. I couldn't believe it. "Mom?"