They

It’s almost dawn; They’ll come soon. They’ll see that he’s found me. I try to find the courage to run. But I can’t. I’m frozen.


I don’t think I ever truly valued my life before. I never thought of the everyday mundanities as the luxuries they were. To think how many quiet cups of coffee or long soaks in a bathtub I took for granted! And what I would give to be in some dimly lit bar with a glass of cabernet again, forcing fake laughter at some boring man’s jokes. How I used to twirl the chain of the heart-shaped locket my mother gave me around my finger in hopes of appearing nervous rather than apathetic. Oh how I long to be that bored and indifferent again. A tightness in my chest brings me back to reality. I struggle to catch my breath in the oppressive heat and grasp at the empty space on my chest where the locket once lain. That heart-shaped locket was the last shining fragment of all I’d lost. Its sparkling golden filagree and delicate chain were a beacon of hope and light; a reminder of all I had and all I loved. A souvenir of a time before the Last Drought and They.

They told us this would happen. They lobbied governments and protested climate change for years before the Last Drought. They recruited the world’s best scientists. They discovered a way to fuse hydrogen and oxygen that required very little energy—they had found a sustainable way to synthesize water. They created the first water production plant. They told the world’s most powerful governments to hand over power in order to save our planet. They were ridiculed by the media. From their self-proclaimed self-sustaining eco-colony, they rode their high horse criticizing the way we all lived. They said we were the problem. They even had the gall to call themselves “They.”

When the time came to share their technology and resources, They wouldn’t. They quoted Darwin. They told us our circumstances were of our own creation. But although outwardly judgmental and demeaning of those on the outside, initially They were generous. They offered outreach in the form of soup kitchens and breakfast missions, sharing extra food and water with the masses (for the first few years at least). We wouldn’t have survived my son’s early years without their charity. But things got worse; the weather, more extreme. They were having trouble keeping their colony functioning. The outreach missions stopped. People who weren’t They started to die. When the Last Drought started, They were only relying on their water production plant for supplemental water. When the rivers were gone and wells began drying, They needed to build more water production plants. They began acquiring resources in a world where resources were no longer abundant. What They needed most were the things that could no longer be mined.

I had never particularly liked my mother’s gold heart-shaped locket. Sure, I wore it around my neck every day, but I wore it out of obligation not adoration. I never particularly liked my mother. We had a strange relationship. I always felt I should have tried harder, especially after having a son of my own. My contrition not only motivated me to wear the locket daily, but to keep a photo of my son and I alongside the photo of my mother within its recesses. Back then, I couldn’t have imagined having a relationship as strained and distant with my own child as I had with my own mother. Now she’s long since dead, he’s gone, and I could only dream of sharing even a shred of the closeness I had with my mother with my own son.

It was around the time that my son was seven that the well on our farm finally dried for good. We had gone a few days without water before, but this time was different. Somehow his tiny face looked withered; his skin was pale and thin, nearly translucent. He was drifting in and out of consciousness. I had to save him. Gold is a scarce commodity now. Without water, They can’t sustain their colony. Without gold, They can’t make water. Without water, They can’t mine gold. I traded the locket as payment so They would keep him safe. But They aren’t who I thought They were.

Nearly a decade has passed. The technology They created hasn’t kept up with Earth’s mass drying. They’ve been migrating farther and farther from their colony, into the northern territories, collecting resources and invading climate refugee camps and what cities remain. They say they’re cleansing the Earth. The rest of the world call it genocide. To preserve what little water and resources are left, anyone who isn’t They is being executed. They start a new siege each day at dawn. Most of us spend our days in hiding and our nights desperately searching for food and water.

Twice, in the early morning haze, whilst in a sleepless stupor, delirious from thirst, I thought I saw the locket. Peering through a keyhole, I thought I saw it doubled around a man’s wrist. He was holding an antique pistol. With each step, the locket smacked against the gun’s barrel; its clanging announcing his every movement. The sunlight shone on them and reflected a dance of silvers and golds. I can’t be sure, but I think I hear him again tonight. I drift in and out of sleep. I haven’t had anything to eat or drink in three days. They have been raiding the city for days and I’m too afraid to leave the closet I’ve been hiding within. The quiet clanging grows louder and louder. This unease in my gut feels real. Am I hallucinating?

I peer through the keyhole. From a distance, I see a man. This time, for the first time, I see all of him. My gut sinks; fear turns to dread. A mother knows. It’s my Theo. I gasp. The air is dry and full of dust. I start to cough. I can’t stop myself. I’m so thirsty. He opens the closet door with his gun pointed directly at me and our eyes meet. He hesitates and looks at the locket on his wrist. His eyes fill with tears and he yells, “RUN!”

I want to run to save him from the trauma. But I can’t. It’s almost dawn; They’ll come soon. They’ll see that he’s found me. He won’t have a choice. I try to find the courage to run. I hear footsteps approaching but I can’t unlock my eyes from his tearful gaze. I’m frozen; paralyzed by love.