Post Apocalypse

I’ve escaped my room to roam under the rich blue sky. Just like me, everyone in the city has fled to the lake whilst the sun is still out. I feel like shouting ‘spring is here!’ because I am just so overjoyed that it decided to come along after all. It arrived out of nowhere, which I think I notice every single year and yet still somehow stay amazed by it every time the new season rolls around. Well, it’s different this year anyway.

The winter months are long usually, but I think it was truly selfish for winter to still come along this year. It should have read the room and noted the misery and pain of humanity. It should have said ‘oh I see you’re all going through it; I’ll spare you the piercing winds and bitter air this time’. But we all had to endure the low temperatures (and even snow, for the first time in years!). It was fitting that we had a random flurry of snow after the weirdness of a post-apocalyptic world, and yet the enjoyment it brought people was not lost on me. It gave people a reason to go outside, a reason to battle the cold, so they can get a swing at their brother with a snowball, or a walk with their parents through a park. Even I took a long walk through the park and climbed a hill to see the city I live in tranquilized briefly by the weight of fresh, powdery snow.

Now I’m at the lake, and the day's joy is tangible. With the snow, it was curiosity, perhaps a childlike excitement at the rarity of it, but with the sun it is gratitude and probably relief. As I pass, I walk over the bridge, peering down at the bottom of the lake. It is a little more crowded than I would like, being in a pandemic and all, and as I walk I become a long snake, like the one from that game where you have to avoid touching anything or you’re out. Most people are in pairs or groups, so it is an unspoken rule that I will be the one to move onto the mud as they pass or wait for them to clear the way. It’s a new skill I’ve had to develop quickly, but I’ve become accustomed to the small ways of keeping myself and others safe in shared spaces- it’s second nature.

I sit down on a rare empty bench and watch as three ducks, two male and one female, walk along the bank, following the path. One male keeps biting the other, and the pretty speckled female duck walks on unbothered. I begin to record them as they walk back towards me again, laughing to myself shamelessly as they play and bite each other. There’s something in the air separate from joy, something new altogether. It feels like everyone is having the same experience of a shared moment in the sun. It’s clear, when I make eye contact with a stranger and the sparkle in their eyes matches mine, that we are all thinking the same thing- this is only a taste of the freedom we could be getting in summer, and if it feels this good now then it’ll be euphoric come June time.

I continue to walk along the path, nervously leaving a gap between my bare ankles and the biting duck. It’s a narrow path and the only direction I have to go when someone approaches is to the left towards the water. I navigate the obstacles and reach a second bridge. I plan to keep to the path, but I stop to take in the bubbles that someone has blown off the bridge. There are hundreds of them, all with tiny rainbows within. The child within me wants to pop one, but none come near me. Just next to the bridge two girls are looking away from the bubbles and into the water. Two large, pristine white swans are following the current down the lake. They bask in the attention and sunshine as cameras click and people sigh in awe.

Further along, the lake follows under a larger bridge that people walk under, it’s more of an underpass. Traffic roars along it above. I’m surprised to see a group of children at the water’s edge under the shadow of the underpass, wearing swimsuits. They’re jeering at each other, giggling in nervous excitement. People who walk past suppress a raised eyebrow, but I smile. This is really how people are going to be now, everyone has had their time to be sensible and restrained, locked up in their houses. Now the craziness begins. I don’t know about sharing a lake with swans and ducks or getting into ice-cold water that has yet to be warmed by the consistent summer sun, and they look a little unsure too. The water rushes all the way through the city, with everyone having access to it. It looks fresh and clean but there’s a germaphobe in my head who is screaming, borne from a world that has instilled hand sanitisers and masks as a vital way of everyday life. I hear a splash and try not to cringe at the thought of the water being on my own legs and my own body becoming immersed under it. They seem pleased with themselves.

I escape the darkness of the underpass and emerge back into the sun. It warms me instantly. There is a small park on the right and two mums sit on a blanket with their babies. They rock them together, singing and laughing. It feels like I’m peering into a personal memory that will be remembered for years. I feel lucky to have been a passer-by in their moment. Not wanting to seem nosey, I walk on. A tiny puppy is coming straight towards me, bouncing around erratically, and pulling its owner’s arm. I smile at the dog first, a brown and white border collie with light blue eyes, and then offer a polite smile at the man being tugged by it. To my delight, the dog stops to say hello to me, and the owner gives me permission to say hello back. I drop to the floor and become instantly covered in a thriving and ever-moving ball of energy. A girl who notices the commotion of fluff stops to offer a grin at the puppy. She has pink hair and matching socks. The dog is promptly stolen from me, enamoured with this new and vibrant person to lick and throw itself all over. I don’t get another glance from those hyper-blue eyes. The owner tells us he is particularly fond of his shoes, specifically ripping them up. Due to his love of destroying everything in sight he was granted the name Bandit. The owner tells us all about the hilarious personality of his new family member with joy, even though he calls him a pest and a nuisance, it is said with fondness.

“Wow, he really likes you!” I exclaim as a pink tongue flickers from a drooling mouth, making a beeline for the girl with the bright hair’s face.

I try to steal a stroke every few seconds, but he is happily in the arms of the girl and I accept that he has made his choice. The owner tells us he should be going, and the puppy bounds away, quickly preoccupied with reaching a duck in the water, his earlier infatuation completely forgotten.

Me and the girl both rise from the floor and walk along the path the same way, away from Bandit. She peels off over a bridge and I carry on, faithful to the path. As the walk goes on it gets marshy and the grass beside the path is extremely muddy. The water gets murkier and the path seems thinner. There is an alternate path option that takes you onto higher ground, the steps are steep and clunky, and the path appears more wild, with roots from trees upturned and fences you are encouraged to climb over. That route seems a little treacherous today, although the view from the top of the stairs is tempting. I get to a certain point in the path and turn around to start the journey back to my university dorm. I accept the fact that the sun will no longer be shining on my face and will in fact remain behind me for the entirety of my journey now. It’s windier in the opposite direction and it blows loudly in my ears, drowning out the music in my earphones.

With less distractions on the way back I have time to ruminate on why this walk feels so special to me. This isn’t the first time I’ve walked this route, or the first time it’s been sunny recently, but my heart feels lighter. I look around at the families in the park, the unity that a small gathering of play equipment brings. People from the same community who have been hiding, so scared of what the world has become, are brought together again. Children are able to play because the clouds have finally cleared. I am giddy from seeing so much happiness in such a short amount of time after the long months in isolation, and I have to stop and remind myself that the skies are not completely blue yet. It’s okay to remain optimistic but we are not quite post-apocalypse. The virus is still roaming around, and people are still in danger. Still, the floral aroma of spring is in the air and everything feels a little bit golden. We aren’t fully in the clear, but the light is at the end of the very, very long and dark tunnel.

As the lake disappears behind me and the cobbled streets of the Highstreet are in view I vow never to take the world around me for granted again. The value of humanity is irreplaceable, we aren’t all good, but we aren’t all terrible either. The sound of shared laughter harmonising, a group of pattering footsteps or the white noise of a room full of chatter will never go unnoticed again. For now, we are starting to get those noises back, in small moments. The ear-shattering sound of a crying baby or the splashing of some daring children in a lake is savoured. Slowly we are being introduced to each other again, through a smile at the coffee shop, a wave from across the street, a nod of a head when you let someone pass. These moments are precious when you have been so distant from the people who live just next door to you. Handshakes and tight embraces are still a distant memory, but they’ll be back, and when they are, they will feel sacred. The casual affection of hand-holding, a hug goodbye or a kiss on the cheek will give back the hope that 2020 made so many of us lose.

A guy skates past me quickly, a speaker in his hands. His music echoes off the ancient buildings on either side of us and even when I can’t see him anymore, I can still hear the distant rapping. His wheels roll and drop into the uneven ground, making an even louder noise than his speaker. He demands attention from everyone around him, but he notices no one. I am taken aback by such an indignant character; I have completely forgotten what people in Kent are like. And I have missed it tremendously. By the time I get home and drop onto my bed, I am exhausted. I think many people may need to be reintroduced to the skill of social interactions. If I learnt anything from my walk it was that communication has gotten harder and people have become weirder. I don’t think the post-apocalyptic world will ever be the same again.