The Dark Side of Choice

Darkness consumed him. How could it not? He had been hiding there for a few days with nothing but his thoughts and the noises that woke him as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

He was so hungry. He hadn’t eaten since he discovered this place. He wouldn’t dare venture out during the day, that was the most dangerous time for him and the family he used to have.

He lost his wife first. Her screams still echo through his heart. The silence afterward, as tears rolled down her cheeks, will haunt him to his grave. What could he do? Nothing. They were ambushed and dragged into an alley by five men after dinner. It was still light out with plenty of people around to help. Why wouldn’t somebody, anybody, help? His voice was hoarse before the weight of three men was finally able to subdue him. All he could do was watch what happened next.

He felt his wife’s fear and pain, then her acceptance. When the man assaulting her had finished, he got up, pulled out a gun and shot her in the head. He’ll never forget what he said after pulling the trigger, ”Maybe in the next life, you’ll make better choices.”

The five men ran off. He didn’t care. He only realized they were gone when the crush of their weight no longer limited his mobility. After she was gone they didn’t need to hold him down. Sorrow and grief took care of that. He crawled toward her slowly, still hoping this nightmare was just a dream. But it wasn’t. Warm blood drained out of the back of her head, while the life drained out of her eyes. Those eyes, once filled with light and fire and love, now vacant. He could still see where the tears streaked down her cheeks.

Her body was limp as he held her. Blood was everywhere. He didn’t care. Those men, no… monsters violated her, ended her life and with it, crippled his will to continue. Why didn’t they kill him? The virus was going to take him anyway. Why did they decide to hurt him in the most devastating way possible? She could have lived a long life after he was gone. At least then, their son wouldn’t be left alone. Now, inevitably he would be.

Sixteen years wasn’t enough time. He had grown into an impressive young man, taking care to avoid a lot of the situations his friends had not. He still dealt with his fair share. Disciplined for arguing his point passionately because the teacher found him to be too aggressive. Stopped by law enforcement because he fit the description. Hassled and stalked in shops while picking out clothes for school or casually browsing, only to be stopped before heading home to his parents and being forced by adults bigger than he was, to empty his pockets or open his backpack.

He did willingly because he knew there was always the chance he would catch someone on the wrong day. They were always disappointed to find no reason for excessive force, he could see it in their eyes. What they often missed was his near perfect GPA. His involvement in various community organizations, often raising money for marginalized communities, tutoring peers and showing there was more for the young men than what the community had become known for.

He dressed well, was soft spoken and exuded a quiet confidence. To those that knew him, he was the son and burgeoning community leader any parent would be proud of. But strangers and shopkeepers and law enforcement didn’t see all that. All they saw was another thug, nuances of personality be damned.

His mind dropped back into his body. Pride for his son provided momentary respite. He didn’t know how long he had been there, cradling his wife’s limp body, hugging her, waiting for her to tell him he knew nothing. Time was irrelevant, his body had exhausted its tear reservoir, even though he was still gripped by the convulsions of sorrow. He had to get home. To somehow try to explain what happened and why his son no longer had a mom.

He staggered out of the alley, hands and clothes stained by the trauma of his loss. The streets were bustling but no one batted an eye. The looks he got were of pity, indifference and disgust. How he got home still remains a mystery.

When he opened the door, he was not greeted by a shared sense of loss. He felt it, the energy was all wrong. The look of shock quickly turned to anger and then hate. It burned deep in his son’s eyes. He didn’t need to say anything, the blood and despair said it for him.

His son knew the risks of his parents being seen together. News of fear and hate based attacks had been a near daily occurrence since the public first learned of the genetic traits required to carry the virus. It has become a constant source of tension between them. His son just didn’t understand why he continued to risk the safety of his family simply for going outside and being seen with them.

At first, it was definitely pride. He wouldn’t allow himself to be a prisoner to fear. But the more information that came out about the virus, he knew his time was running out. The virus was eventually going to infect him, how could it not, he had the genetic markers and once infected, his death was all but guaranteed. There was only a 5% survival rate and those that survived the virus didn’t survive the mob.

With each day that passed the death toll climbed rapidly and exponentially. Public institutions were at extreme risk of collapse and had to react quickly to introduce transition contingencies to ensure civil society maintained some semblance of order. Society did adapt. Changes in leadership. Hiring blitzes. New faces and voices, voices that had been stifled prior to the virus, stepped in to fill the void and avoid the collapse former leaders believed was inevitable. As with any transition, there were bound to be hiccups. These hiccups took a decidedly darker and more violent tone. He understood why.

The science wasn’t exactly clear and uncertainty bred fear. There were only a few incidents at first, thought to be the work of some fringe group. But as cases began to spread, it was becoming clear the violence was targeted. Sick people weren’t even the targets, it was the healthy people. There was real fear the virus would adapt, driving some people to extreme measures by systematically targeting the alleged source of the virus. Violence had become so common, shock had morphed into acceptance and the reason he found himself homeless and hiding in dark places. This world had taken everything from him. Three months had passed since his wife’s grizzly attack, yet somehow he continued.

He was running on empty. Stomach. Mind. Heart. Soul. At least he could do something about his stomach. It was the right kind of dark for him to forage. He only had a brief window before the city began to rise. It was never safe. Virus or people, he was one wrong turn away from the grave. It didn’t help that the people trying to kill him were also asymptomatic carriers of the virus.

The government tried to enforce a mask mandate. It worked for about five minutes, then the country split down the center. Those who cared about everyone and those who cared about themselves. The virus tore through the population infecting everyone. The carriers got away with minor cold symptoms. Those cursed with the virus marker died within a couple of weeks after exhibiting symptoms.

He was close to the edge of the city, one suburb away from where he used to call home. If he wanted to continue living he had to cross through it to reach the wild beyond the city boundaries. He was always careful when he moved. If the dim light of night caught the wrong angle on his face, he would no longer be just some vagrant seeking food and a dry place to sleep.

It was the perfect spot. A dumpster in a poorly lit alley behind a restaurant. All that perfectly good food waste… scraps from unfinished meals, server errors and accidentally overcooked food that couldn’t be presented to patrons. Jackpot!

It was then he heard them. He tried to run but he was too weak from hunger. He only managed a few strides before they overtook him. It was the same crew except this time, one more had joined them. No! Not him. Anyone but him.

Two men held his arms. It was unnecessary. The will to fight disappeared with the collapse of his family. He was now standing face-to-face with him. “Hey pops. You know it’s dangerous for people like you to be outside. You should have never left the hole you crawled out of.” There was no empathy in his words. He blamed his dad for losing his mom. His son felt since his dad couldn’t protect her, he was better off by himself. The pain of losing his mom was still fresh. At least here, now, he could confront his dad. He cocked his fist and hit his dad as hard as he could in the face.

“Her blood is on your hands,” choking up as his son screamed in his face. “You were too weak to defend her,” he spat. The rage from losing his mom hadn’t abated. His knees buckled from the stroke but the two men held his weight until he was able to regain his feet. There was nothing he could say to his son. It was his fault. He was oblivious to the new world. A world which hated him because of the colour of his skin, regardless of the content of his character.

Before he fully regained his senses, he heard a gun cock. When he looked back at his son, the young man he raised and who filled him with pride, he was staring down the barrel of a 9mm. Looking into his son’s eyes, he saw the fury this group of monsters, the ones responsible for his mom’s murder, had cultivated. He was no longer this person’s father. Just another statistic in the rising death toll of the virus. “Any last words… dad?”

His son’s voice was cold. The love had drained out of him like his mom’s life had drained from her. “Only that we don’t choose who we fall in love with, son. If I hadn’t followed my heart, you wouldn’t be here,” he reflected, exhaustion and acceptance washing over him.

“Maybe in the next life, you’ll make better choices and stick to your own kind.” The gunshot was the last thing he heard. As his body crumpled to the ground, something flashed across the son’s eyes. It was his mom’s heart shaped locket. It had freed itself from his dad’s shirt as his body fell. The locket popped open. Inside it was a picture of the three of them. He snorted derisively as the locket photo was slowly engulfed by his dad’s blood.

You can forget the past but you can’t erase it.