These Days

As the sun descended from its apex, a small flicker danced off her chest. She was standing on top of a hill near a cliff carved from crashing debris. I was only several feet below her, but she hadn’t noticed me. In another time I would have waved and said hello. But now everything is approached with caution. A “hello” is different these days.

I held my tongue but kept looking. That glimmer was coming from a locket she wore. I couldn’t make out any more than that.

I still chuckle when I see them - momentos. The type of things that serve no purpose these days. Some still carry them; though fewer and fewer. I’ve seen a person hold on to them until the end; as if their lives depended on this small insignificant thing. Especially in the beginning, people still thought money and jewelry were worth something. Those of us still wandering know better. It's only deadweight these days.

As I creep towards the hill, I catch myself thinking of different days. Of things that used to matter; of some momento or things that meant anything.

I wonder, is sentimentality really what makes us human? Animals don’t bother to carry around collars their owners gave them, not once they’re lost. They don’t think about their old food dishes or miss them when they're gone. But here we are, top of the food chain and hanging on to lockets. I suppose part of it is that these trinkets aren’t worth anything anyway. It only means something to us. We see it, we hold it, we touch it, and it reminds us of something else.

Things like long hair when you’re bald or height when you’re short. It’s all of those things that don’t matter anymore. The only thing anyone can care about is staying alive. But maybe that small memento is worth staying alive for. Truthfully, what she must have gone through to keep it… I attempt to catch myself before I drift any further, but …

I used to carry around a wallet with pictures of my family. I told myself I wanted to keep them close. I’m not sure exactly when I even lost it anymore. I just know at some point it was gone. Maybe I cried then. Maybe I thought what’s the point? Maybe I just kept going. It all blurs together now. And today, maybe I will eat.

That’s who we are now. Primitive life forms running around destroyed cities hoping to find food and water. Maybe a hiding spot for a few days. But don’t get too comfortable. Someone is sure to stumble upon you. Pray that it’s not while you sleep. Or, maybe that’s easier. There’s no fighting then. If they catch you, this nightmare is over. Maybe that’s easier in these times.

I have to approach her with caution. I’m coming from below and she has the higher ground. There is no telling what her intentions are - only that she keeps looking out into the distance. Every time she moves, that locket dances. I’m around the hill by now. And she hasn’t turned around. I’m quiet, but am I this quiet? Am I only the sound of a ghost now?

Why isn’t she looking? Why doesn't she notice me? I want to scream hello, but I can’t be sure if that will change the mood. These days, moods are so delicate. So frail and I’d hate to ruin this moment for her. She’s still searching, she must have hope. There must be something in the locket that keeps her hoping. Don’t do that; don’t hope.

I am close to her now; so close I can touch her. She never turns around.

The blade drips slowly. I can hear it. My heart still pounds a little bit. I can hear it beating - though ever so slightly. Briefly, I glanced in the direction she was staring. There’s nothing there, at least nothing I haven't seen before. More rubble. More hills with cliffs cut from falling skyscrapers.

The clasp of the heart-shaped locket is intact. I wanted to miss it. I wanted to keep it safe. I kneel and place my hand on her blood-soaked shirt. She's face down, but I get close and whisper, “don’t worry I’ll keep it safe.”