To Steal a Heart

Nowadays, I find myself in my mind. Not enough to warrant an eager attacker, but enough to forgo my actions. In a street devoid of life but full of flying papers, rolling plastic, burnt tents, shattered windows, and reeking of death, a musty, rotten smell, I hover over someone. I hover over their body as the summer dusk burns from the concrete.

I wish I could’ve been good. And maybe for a brief time before the Last War I was. Back when my heart cried after hurting someone, when my conscience knew right from wrong, when I feared being alone.

Most of the selfless, kindhearted, warm-smiling souls died soon after the power grids did. More tapered off when the city pipes dried. Those lingering guard their hearts like they’re made of gold.

It’s useless to bother. On a good day, I’ll pass a few bodies. I’ve seen stiff legs chewed by wild dogs, families who left this place together, vultures circling in the choking grey sky. There are sights that could break the toughest of shields. Nations lit the match for us to destroy each other.

This someone is a woman. How she wound up face up in the street, flat, and staring into ugly clouds, I don’t know. I do know her hair is black and blinding against the sun. Squinting, I notice small wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. They bend upwards, as if she smiled often.

I check her jean pockets and compare shoes sizes, but we’re not a match. She must’ve passed recently. She lacks any surface wounds, but her mouth is agape like she needed air. Bombs after bombs ruined everything around, and the air is no exception. No mask could fully prevent the fumes of pollution and destruction and death. Not during the summer, not in the city.

I continue searching as the sun catches the necklace first. Gold shimmers and snakes around her collarbone. No one’s taken it.

The houses on each side of the street aren’t habitable. Furniture’s been thrown through the windows and mold lines the ceilings. The spaces between the houses are shadowed but empty. The world is silent except for the wind. Silent except for my pounding heart.

I unclasp the necklace and hold it up. A heart-shaped locket dangles in the light with swirls detailing the metal. Popping the locket open, there’s nothing inside.

With a final survey of the area, I cram the gold into my back pocket and move on. I know a man who still banks on gold for currency. He’ll pay me in enough food to last weeks, if not the month.

At least she wasn’t killed for the necklace. At least I was lucky enough to find her.

It’s habit to check my back every few minutes. After being jumped once, it becomes a light paranoia. I keep my hand on a short knife in a belt loop. My heart calms when I near my block. No one bothers this deep in the city, and I’ll use tomorrow’s daylight to reach the trader.

I enter a short brick building and settle in the stairwell. Not too dusty, not too eerie. I remove my daily findings from my backpack and line the stair where I sit. Water bottles, sloshy food in a can, a knife I can sharpen.

I lean against the stairs despite its unforgiving shape and shut my eyes. If I could have anything, I’d choose air conditioning. Five years and I still haven’t forgotten how amazing it was. Sitting in freezing air after a blistering day can’t be beat. Still, I suppose I’m okay with this cool hall.

I daze off, a bad habit in the summer, and come back to almost complete darkness. Shuffling for my battery-powered pocket lantern, I hazily light the stairwell.

My head snaps to movement at the door’s archway. My cans are gone, the knife, but one water bottle is left.

“Who do you think you are,” I call. My voice echoes up, making me sound shrill and tiny.

“I’d like my food back,” I say as I stand.

I swallow dryness as I remove my knife from the loop. The lantern barely reaches the far wall, and with heavy feet, I approach the door.

“I know this place better than you,” I call through the door. “You should leave with what you’ve already taken.”

I gulp again. They came up to me and had the chance to kill me. Most people would. I’d take the opportunity if I were in their shoes. They couldn’t search my body with me alive, and my knife wasn’t plainly visible.

I’m not eager to step through the door. I consider grabbing the lantern and continuing or grabbing the lantern and flying up the stairs. They’ll be gone by morning.

Backing toward the light, I spin and run for it. Footsteps follow and I make it to the lantern. I flip my knife and turn in time. But my attacker grabs my hand, and I’m not strong enough to keep from falling. I’m slammed against the concrete stairs. My head hits first as I keep the attacker away with my arms. I try and kick her stomach, but she stomps mine first.

I cough as the air slips from my lungs. She pushes down on my arms as I scramble to keep from sliding down the steps. We both fight for my knife. Her hair is long and sweeps my view of an escape.

“What do you want?” I ask through a sharp breath.

Through her hair, the world is blurry still. The walls of my head pound with overwhelming pressure as the young woman pins me in place.

“Kill me and be done with it,” I say.

“Why’d you take my mother from me?” she yells.

Her eyes are dark and in them is an anger that I’d prefer not to face. There’s nothing except fire and pain.

“What are you talking about?” I ask. “Do you mean the woman with the locket? Where were you when she died?”

Another round of coughs erupts through my chest. I’ve sent her into a daze and manage to scramble my way out from under her. I trip away near the doorway and hold out my knife.

I taste blood. “Say something or I’ll kill you.”

She laughs. It’s a deep laugh, from either entertainment or insanity. She stands and faces me with tears in her eyes. “I should’ve killed you after you came back for the locket.”

“Listen, I’m not sure what dots you’re connecting, but they’re not in the right order. I didn’t kill your mother.”

“I watched you suffocate her.”

“No, not me. I’m not one to actively murder. I’m like a vulture. Opportunistic.”

Her chest heaves with a weight that I haven’t had to deal with in a long time. Her mind hears me, but her heart doesn’t want to listen.

I hesitate. The world is dead. I lost what I had, who I loved. Either she listens to me or I’m leaving.

I continue my path to the door, with the goal being to get through it, abandon my backpack, and get as far from here as I can. Maybe the city won’t cut it anymore. Maybe the turning point’s come where sanity isn’t standard.

The young woman's cries turn into a silent sob. Like a child, she covers her eyes and rubs the tears. She sniffles and wipes her nose with her sleeve. She doesn’t look at me, and now would be the perfect time to go.

But for some reason, my feet won’t budge. Although my world spins and my brain throbs with a growing concussion, I can’t get myself through the door.

I’ve got nothing left. No family, no belongings, no home. She seems as if it’s finally been stolen from her. I never expected someone to wait near their loved one’s body.

“Why do you think it was me?” I ask.

She looks up. She’s about my age, early twenties or late teens. Her cheeks are a little rounder, but still somewhat hollowed from lack of regular food. The bags under her eyes sink her features, droop her expressions.

“A woman strangled her.”

“Do you know why?”

“Wrong time, wrong place, I don’t know.” She takes a second to compose her shallow breaths. “I figured she’d come back after I scared her off. For the necklace.”

“You wanted to fix things,” I say.

She nods.

I hesitate again. But I push forward and close the distance between her and I. Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out the necklace and place it into her palms.

“I didn’t kill her. But you deserve to have this back.”

The tears rupture again. They drown the fire in a hurricane. I bite my lips and grab my backpack off the stairs. She stops me on my way to the door.

“Thank you,” she says.

I shrug her off. “Don’t bother.”

“I know what you’ve giving up. I don’t think you should go off on your own. I hurt you.”

“Again, don’t bother.”

“My name is Nami. You deserve some kindness, too.”

She hands the necklace back to me and turns around, pulling her hair aside. I don’t know where she’s gained this trust from, but I connect the clasp.

“I'm Sofia,” I say.