The Locket

He didn’t know why he was looking for it, it was probably lost some days ago. He was digging in his pack for the plastic rimmed mirror when he noticed the absence of the thin golden chain. The braided necklace would routinely be tangled amongst his trifles making retrieving items difficult. The locket probably wasn’t worth much of anything. He wasn’t even sure if it was real gold. He had found it several months ago while searching for food in an unexplored house. Curiously, when he examined the pictures on the walls, none of the women matched the oval photo inside the heart-shaped pendant. She was an older woman, maybe in her sixties, though she still had a spark of youth in her eyes. He supposed she reminded him of his mother. It had been several years since he had thought of his family.

This detour cost him two days, backtracking to the last town he visited on his journey. He remembered organizing his pack in an abandoned gas station to make room for an unopened box of cereal. As he walked back to this place he felt annoyed, this seemed like wasted time. Though, he had no real destination and no one that would miss him. In some way this task gave him a purpose, which is something he had not felt since he gave up on hope years ago. As he entered the gas station, through the empty space that used to be a glass door, the large open room stood silent and still. When there are no people left to disrupt the scene the moving pictures of life turn to static images. He longed for any noises not made by himself.

The store was as he left it, some items still on the shelves, but mostly picked through or spoiled by animals. The sunlight penetrated dirty windows and poured through the broken door to provide just enough illumination to see. He walked behind the counter and started tracing through his memory for where he may have lost his adopted heirloom. The long trip had made him tired and he found that his mind wandered and his focus softened. He surprised himself by speaking out loud, “where are you?” His own voice seemed foreign as if listening to an impression of what he used to be. A lifetime ago he used to be a salesman. He had sold printing and paper products, a dying industry lost to the digital world. A dying industry before the death of a world. He used to go out for drinks with his friends every other Thursday night. He had a family. He had people he disliked, or that annoyed him. He used to pass people on the street and in the stores. He would look at the faces of strangers and judge them, create their backstory based on a snapshot of that moment and place them into their caste. He knew it wasn’t fair, but what did it matter? Now they are all gone, lost and never to return.

When he opened his eyes he realized he had slept. He was on the floor behind the counter of what used to be a gas station. Why he was there was not obvious to him at that moment. The moon was full and the white light filled the building more than seemed reasonable. The noise of night filled his ears. He hated the night. It was not safe to travel in the dark and sleepless nights meant being alone with his thoughts. He preferred movement. Walking kept him occupied and helped use up time, the only thing he had left. He wasn’t sure if he wanted this time anymore. He closed his eyes and waited for the morning knowing he would not fall back asleep.

The birds announced the morning before the sun appeared. He gathered himself and went outside to relieve himself. He had another long day ahead, following the main roads to the next town where he would again look for food. He thought of the locket for a brief moment and frowned at what a fool he was for coming back for it. The distraction was nice, but the hope it provided was cruel. His life now was surviving until all hope was gone. So now he would walk and he would wait and he would pray for that hope to run out.