The Lonely Heart

House.

That’s what this pile of rubble used to be. Annabelle could tell by the squared edges and rigid lines that marked the ground. At least, that was what her mother told her when she last saw this type of mess. Her mother was gone now. Annabelle started digging through the rubble, looking for useful trinkets. If she was right, the remains of this house might have a treasure trove of supplies she could use.

Annabelle bent over double as she scoured the ground before her. Her clothes were a variety of cloth and plastic that were hand sewn together. Parts of her cloak were more worn than others. This last winter had been rough. She would have to find new material to replace the torn patches, a task that was growing increasingly more difficult with time. It was hard to make out any other features beneath the pile of rags she wore. The weather was still very cold. She kept her head covered, and her hair pulled back, tucked into the turban/hood that she wore. Even her face was wrapped in cloth. Her brown eyes and the bridge of her nose were her only features visible, although wisps of her dark hair had escaped here and there, poking out at various crevices of her turban.

It hadn’t always been this way, she had been told. There was once a mighty people who lived off the land. They made great buildings and things called “cities”, where there were people as far as the eye can see. Annabelle found the stories a little hard to believe. She had been very young when the great war started: A fact she was grateful for. The haunted look in the elder’s eyes when they spoke of the past was...unnerving to say the least. The only memory Annabelle had of those days was a room full of children. She didn't know why she was there, or where her mother was, but she knew she was safe. And then there was madness. Adults panicking. Annabelle’s mother packed everything in a hurry and fled into the wilderness. To their new home. That was all she could remember.

Something caught her eye, she reached down to inspect the object protruding from the ground. She brushed off the dirt with a hand wrapped in cloth. A butter knife. Annabelle didn’t know why her mother had called this object by such a name, but it would definitely come in handy. She picked up the knife and inspected it. It was good quality. Solid metal, none of that cheap plastic stuff in the handle. She tucked the knife into a pocket hidden in her rags and continued her search.

Annabelle and her mother had not been alone at first. They were once a small clan, though they were hesitant to call it that. Annabelle had been the only child. There had been an older couple: the Joneses. The woman had been a gardener who grew most of their food, but she passed away before Annabelle turned 10. Her husband called himself “an accountant”, which Annabelle understood to be a title or rank of some kind among the mighty ones. He was good with his hands though, and had shown Annabelle how to make her cloak, among other things. Annabelle’s own mother had been distant. She talked little about her past. All Annabelle knew of her mother’s life before the great war was that she worked hard to provide for Annabelle. She never talked of Annabelle’s father, if he was alive.

After a few hours of searching Annabelle straightened her stiff back and took stock of what she had found. An arms length of copper wire, a glass bulb with a metal tip, and that metal knife. It wasn’t as good a haul as she was expecting. Annabelle sighed, tucking the goods back into her folds. She used to fill bags with the goods she could find in the ruins of a house. She turned to look in the direction she was headed: the old city. With her mother gone, there was nothing left to hold her here in the wilderness. Perhaps she could find other survivors. Scavengers like herself.

She turned to look at the house one last time, and a shiny surface caught her eye. She went closer to investigate. A piece of glass was always useful. But it wasn’t glass. Annabelle paused, startled by the beautiful yellow object partially buried in the rubble. She carefully reached out to brush the dirt away. It was so small. The shape reminded Annabelle of something. A flashback to her distant past. That room with the children, the woman… the teacher... holding up the...card….”Heart!” Annabelle almost shouted the word out loud as it came back to her. Her own voice startled her and she looked around to make sure nothing else had been startled by her exclamation.

When it was clear she was alone, Annabelle bent back down to inspect the gold-colored heart. She couldn’t pick it up. There was a similar colored wire chain that it was attached to, buried and tangled in something unseen. Annabelle scrounged around a bit to find the length of the wire, finally getting it free from some roots that grew around it. She held up the object to admire it. A necklace, a very elaborate one, the likes of which Annabelle had never seen. Annabelle very carefully placed the heart-shaped necklace around her own neck. A warm feeling welled within her. It was nostalgic. She couldn’t really explain it. She tucked the gold heart into the folds of her rags to protect it, and continued her journey.

***

It was two days later before Annabelle had a chance to inspect the necklace again. She had feasted on a wild blueberry bush she had stumbled across and had found a safe place to rest her head: the remnants of an old brick chimney. There was still enough light that as she pulled out the necklace to admire it again, she noticed the tiny hinge on the side of the heart. At least it looked like a hinge. Hinges were for doors, she knew that. But this couldn’t be a door…could it? She turned the heart to look at it’s side and saw the crack. Annabelle pulled out the butter knife. But it was too wide to wedge into the crack. Besides, the crack was filled with dirt. Annabelle would have to try cleaning it the next time she found a steady supply of water. What could be inside this necklace?

Fortunately for her, the next day had rain. The chimney was already sealed up with sticks and mud- a good sign to Annabelle that there were indeed other survivors. She was able to stay dry in her new enclosure. She reached into one of her many pockets and pulled out a large, old tin can and a plastic bowl. She placed both on a stable surface to collect the rainwater. After roughly an hour had passed, she pulled the bowl back inside, leaving the can to collect more water. She placed the locket in the water and let it soak a bit. Annabelle used her fingers to scrape at the dirt until she finally got the clasp to release on the necklace. She pulled the heart out of the water and carefully opened it's tiny door as far as it allowed her before returning it to the water to let it soak once more.

The last of the dirt was wiped away, and Annabelle could finally see what the inside of her golden heart contained. There were words on one side. Annabelle knew that’s what they were. Her mother had tried to teach her to read, but they didn’t have very many books to interest her, and the last book she had was used for kindling when she was 11. The other side had a glass window. There was something inside that window, but it was too damaged to make out. Age and the water treatment had not been kind to whatever had been behind the window before. Annabelle carefully dislodged the glass window and cleaned out the space behind. It didn’t really matter anyway. It was her window now.

But what should she put in it? Annabelle reached out into the rain to collect her water tin. She reached into her rags and struggled with something. It was hard to position herself in the confines of the fireplace. She finally managed to free a makeshift water skin. She unscrewed the plastic cap and carefully poured the water from the tin can into the water skin. She swallowed the last bit in the can before she placed it once more out in the rain. She looked at the locket again, at those words. “T...O…M…Y...D...E...A...R...E...S...T...L...O...V...E.” She traced the letters as she read them. She remembered the names of these….letters. But she couldn’t remember how they sounded or what they meant. And there was a second bit that looked like letters, but they looked weird. They were loopy and stuck together. She couldn’t make it out. She returned her attention to the window. There wasn’t much space for her to store anything useful there. What did the mighty people use this for?

The rain looked like it was lightening up. Annabelle might have time to scrounge for a meal before it was too dark. The blueberry bush wasn’t far from here, and it still had quite a few berries on it when she left. She sniffed the air to make sure there were no bears about. Though with the fresh rain, she couldn’t be entirely certain. She left the tin can to gather as much water as it could as she left the safety of her temporary home.

***

There had been a few men in the clan, at the start. But they left early on to fight in the war, and never came back. One of the men’s wives died in childbirth, and the other left a year after to look for her husband. That happened around the time that Annabelle had been 6 years of age. Since then, it was just her, her mother, and Mister Jones. Mister Jones caught an illness and passed when Annabelle was 15, and Annabelle's mother died 4 years after. So now it was just her.

A peculiar smell drifted in the breeze that Annabelle was unfamiliar with. Annabelle oriented herself in the direction that it came for and moved towards it cautiously. She didn’t know what it was like to be with other people, if there were any left. The stories Mister Jones used to tell about the power of the weapons the mighty ones used...Annabelle shivered. She hoped she never had to look upon the destruction those...bombs he had called them...created. Annabelle had seen a wildfire once. It was frightening how the line of fire would eat everything in it’s path. “The power of a million wildfires…" Annabelle wasn’t sure if Mister Jones was exaggerating or not. It was hard to believe such a thing, but that haunted look would always be on their faces when they spoke of the horror of those mighty weapons. Something had traumatized Mr. Jones and Annabelle’s mother. Something truly horrifying.

A wisp of smoke rose in the distance. A cooking fire? Annabelle paused, fingering the locket beneath her cloak. She didn’t know how to talk to other people. Would it be any different than her life before? The power of a million wildfires. Annabelle shuttered, but dismissed the thought. The smoke she saw was much too small to come from such a horror. It wasn’t good to be alone and Annabelle was very lonely. She needed to take a chance. Annabelle steeled herself, before heading nervously in the direction of the smoke.