Circumstance //DESPITE
I can’t breathe. How much longer. Do it. Heart
slams so hard against my insides surely it hears me. At the dim end of the
rotting structure it stands dead still. One leg suspended. Ears twitch, looking
right at me. Long eyelashes. Big, animal eye. I’m in it. Mal’s not, and she has
the gun. Do it. Shootititdoesn’tknowgodIhavetobrea–
The silence explodes.
A streak in the dimness. Blink.
It’s gone. Just like that.
Blink.
Head ringing with the report.
Behind the shattered glass the rifle barrel angles down and there is her ghost
face framed in the window.
Dart forward eagerly. Maybe she
hit it. Little knot of hope. Hunched over where the animal was. Maybe there’s
blood. Back and forth in a grid. End where its horns tore through the tumbled
slats. Maybe there’s a drop.
“Stop it.”
Mal’s behind me. Stiff. Gun
barrel across her hips.
“What if you wounded it.”
Squinting into the shadows and the clutter on the floor.
“No."
A drop. That’s all. Anything.
Nothing.
“Stop it. Stop.”
I straighten up and stare into
the treeline. Dense. It's gone. A funny thought. I don’t say it. Saying it
won’t help. Won’t bring back the animal, won’t refill the empty shell casing in
the dirt outside the bare wood frame.
Mal’s skin is pale and tight.
Makes the sores stand out. Hands shaking on the gunmetal. The bones of her
hands.
All that meat right there and
then gone makes my insides pull tight. Such a fat one. I swallow my saliva.
Food for weeks. I don’t say it.
What I say is: “We had to try.”
“I didn't wait for a killshot. I
should’ve waited.”
“You had to. There was only one
chance. It was a bad chance but it was the only one. You had to.”
“The way the light bounced on the window in
the glass of the scope.”
What’s in my head I don’t say.
She holds the two bronze bullets,
grinds them against each other. One lip quivers.
What’s in my head I don’t say. I
say: “We still have two.”
Two.
For a moment there’s a glimmer in
her eyes. A vision, a memory, what we’ve both seen so many others do. It
passes. But not entirely. It can’t. The possibility is always there, the
possibility of those two bullets. Maybe it brings comfort.
“Stupid,” she says. “Stupid.”
She’s in her head and it's
dangerous to be in there now.
I share the funny thought I had.
I cock my one eyebrow and I say: "You know what's funny is all this green
stuff, this whole forest, it’s food. Food for everything but you and me. For
days we've been walking through food but we don’t know what to take or how to
eat it. Nobody ever taught us. All we know is packets and tins and meat. So
who’s smarter, then? Us, with our tin openers, starving in a field of food, or
the birds and the bugs and the buck, who can see the food that’s just growing
out of everywhere?”
She snorts. “But we’ve got guns
to shoot them. We can make them food. It’s not our fault we can’t eat plants
and roots and seeds and stuff.”
Mal clutches the gun to her side
and she picks at the rotting woodwork.
“It’s not,” she says, “it’s not
our fault!”
She picks and she picks at the
rotting woodwork and says she didn’t ask for this.
“No one did.”
She says she didn't ask to be
born into this world and I say no one did.
Nobody asked for this, it’s not
our fault. Doesn't matter though. Still our problem.
Mal shakes her head slowly and
her face is all scrunched up and she sits down there in the hole in the wall,
half in and half out of the structure. The gun across her lap.
“It’s not fair. Nothing is fair.
One day, we just wake up into it. Wake up into something terrible and the whole
wide world around you is already set in place and nobody ever asks you is that
okay with you. It doesn’t matter what you want. What I want. I don’t want this.
And then every time you dream you go someplace else but then you always come
back to this same place you don’t want to be, give me the dream any dream, but
no you come back here over and over and over again forever till you die.”
“Yes. If you look at it like
that.”
Her head is in her hands.
“David why can’t I be a bird. I
want to fly away far far away from everything. Everything I didn’t ask for. The
sickness. I’d rather be a bird. David. Why. David I want it to stop. Why are we
here.”
“It doesn’t matter. We are here.
That’s how it is.”
“No I mean why are we here.”
“Oh.”
I say we are here because it is
on the way to the City and that is where we are going. But she doesn’t hear
because right now she is in her head and her head will not accept this. It’s
like there’s a filter where the words go in, like she is deaf to any voice not
mimicking her own.
“A bird David I want to be a
bird. David what do you want to be?”
I don’t answer. This is not
useful. I give the floor one more look. No trace of the animal. She missed. The
bullet is in a tree or in the ground not in the animal. Reality. The numbness
settles in again.
“David.” She’s staring at me.
“David.”
“Oh. I thought you were joking.”
“David I am not joking
does-it-look-like-I-am-joking.”
“No.”
Her fingers pressing white into
the killing tips of the last two bullets. She’s deep in her head.
I think about being a bird.
“No,” I say. “I wouldn’t.”
“What?” she pulls a face.
“I wouldn’t be a bird or
whatever. There are facts and I can’t make like the facts aren’t there. Yes we
are born into this world and it is like a big cage with no way out. So
what. This is our life. I won’t pretend.
Inside the big cage is the little cage of bone and brain and we are all in that
little cage in the big cage and yes it’s hard almost all the time. How is a
bird any different. A bird is just another cage.”
She opens her mouth but I cut her
off.
“When a bird has no food then it
also feels bad. It also gets thin and weak and wastes away. Then it dies. The
forest eats it. So what?”
Her face is all bundled up.
“Mal I am not looking for escape.
The Before has come and gone. So be it. This is now. It is not good. It could
be worse. It’s always been this way. I will not run from it! That’s not
helping. We have to make it better. It's just us and we only have what is
already here and we can make it better than it is. We have something, not a
lot, but we can use it. This is practical. What else is there? It is something
to do. That we can do. Nothing else is helping. Escape does not help.”
“I...”
“No. I’m sorry. You asked what
would I do and I told you. I’m sorry but it is what it is. If you don’t like it
I’m sorry but I feel very strong about it because this is the point of
everything. What they tried to teach us was all their ways to escape and not
face things how they are. But then some people started to get smart and saw
into what was really going on in the Before. Then everyone got sick. Cowards.
They got sick and they quit and they left us with all their problems. A whole
world about to collapse. They thought nobody can blame you for getting sick and
weak and dying and not doing what you should’ve done. Well, I’ll say it. Fuck
them. Cowards. Fuck them for pretending to be everything under the sun except
what they actually are. For bringing us into their broken pretend. For forcing
us to live in the ruins they ran from but didn't escape. I’m sorry but that’s
how it is that’s how I see it and I don’t care if it makes you mad.”
“You always say that.”
“Because it’s true.”
Her face is lots of things and
she stands up and says nothing and turns away and slings the rifle over her
shoulder and folds her arms and walks away past me. That’s fine. Let her.
She’ll sulk until she just looks at everything the way it is. Let her go. She’s
gone.
Focus.
I must focus.
I listen for a while.
The gunshot. If there were stalkers nearby
they might come looking. I listen.
Nothing. Good. Maybe it scared some of them
away. It’s getting dark. I do not think about the meat eaters.
I walk away from the rotting
structures and the shadows lengthen. When there is light again we’ll scavenge
what we can which isn’t much.
I walk to where we hid our packs
in the dense bushes and I dig them out.
She’s still sulking somewhere but
she’ll keep an eye on her pack, on what I do with it. Maybe through the rifle
scope.
I shoulder both my pack and hers.
They’re nearly empty so it’s easy. The shadows are all sunk into each other. I
find a good spot that’s hard to find and harder to see and I start making camp.
The darkness is here so she’ll be
back soon. She’ll help pitch the tents, cut branches for the hides, collect and
stack cover. The busyness will make her forget. Emotions. The emotions will
have passed, settled. I busy myself.
Emotions.
Why.
Why on top of all the other stuff
must we still feel bad, scared, sad. Why - no. Stop. Don’t go there.
Don’t go there.
I scrounge some stuff to rub on
our skin to blend into the night but I do not think about the meat eaters.
Focus. Listen. Clear the ground of anything sharp why. Focus. Don’t go there
focus lay the ground sheets, weight the corners, unpack the tents. Listen.
Don’t go there. Focus. Don’t ask why not now it’s getting very dark.
Focus.
Snap the poles. Thread them
through. Peg the rain flies.
Focus.
Listen.
Stow the packs. Gather loose
brush for cover. Focus.
Where is she she’s taking very
long it’s very, very dark.
.:.
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