Sep 2016
I stood at the doorway and swayed. “‘I’m cold”, I declared, to no one. The sky was the colour of mustard and blood, as it had been every day since December. I wondered what chemicals I might be ******* in, and watched as my hot breath escaped like the life leaving a corpse. The horrible thought made my mouth twist, and I rubbed my arms.
I had plenty of layers on, and it was as much for the uncertainty and loneliness as the brisk chill. I know exactly where to look next, I lied to myself. A fragile veneer of confidence held everything together. It was born not of bravery, but necessity. I had to find her, beyond the threshold, beyond this dark veil. A step. A wobble. A curse.
It wasn’t long before I saw the first of them, rotting by the side of the road. I felt pity, then loathing, then immediate remorse. I waited, breath captive, for movement, for howls. Betrayer! Why did you live, as we died? I pulled my hood down in shame and started to run. I knew that they were merely motionless corpses, the unfortunate ones who had died that day. They were dead, every one of them gone. One thing kept me going: Iris.
I hadn’t seen another living creature for two months, but I sensed her constantly. Every corner I turned, every flickering shadow, even the moans of the wind. She was always there and always absent. I slowed to a walk by the park, and everything fell still. There was no sound at all, not even the whispers of ghosts. I looked at the button at the crossing. Press, it read. I pressed.
The traffic lights silently changed to amber, and then red. No cars were there. No cars stopped. No Iris. I realised I was ravenous. The crossing started to beep. I gasped. The green man appeared. I looked at him, then down, left to right; nothing. An empty road. The beeping continued. “Thank you”, I said to the green man. He did not reply. As I approached the shop, I heard her, heard her call. I cursed myself even as I turned. The grass and the trees on the hill in the park. A mocking wind whipping at my sides.
Most of the bread and fresh produce had rotted away. In habit I looked over the newspapers and magazines opposite the entrance. They hadn’t changed, of course. December’s magazines, papers from the 12th. I noticed that the lights were still on. How long would they keep going with no one in the power stations? I shook my head. Why was I thinking about this? I might care later, but I didn’t right now. I found a ring-pull tin and ate, and blinked for a moment. I found one for Iris too, her favourite. I thanked the empty store, and eventually willed myself back out again.
She loved being outside. Her delight at it was marvellous. I was sure that if she had the choice she would be out here during the day. I stopped like a statue on the pavement, eyes wide. All this time searching, I had never considered that she might be searching for me too. Where would she look for me? I turned it around in my mind. Of all our old haunts, I had been looking in her favourite places: the park, the old quarry. Which were my favourite places? I tried to focus. By the lakes, of course, but that was too far on foot. The canal. The canal.
My heart began to beat so furiously that I had to gasp to breathe. Automatically, I started to walk. My feet carried me lightly. I didn’t see the bodies. I didn’t feel the cold. My rituals of normalcy were forgotten as I traversed the noiseless roads. Everything was washed out by something in my heart, in my guts. Two things, actually. A burning hope. And a repetitive, repetitive dread.
As I took the second of the steps downward, my stomach sank. I could see the canal path and I realised that I half-expected her to just be there, looking up at me. She wasn’t, of course. This was too much to take, and I didn’t know which was worse, the hope or the dread. I walked down five or six steps, trying to focus on the smell of the bramble. It didn’t smell of anything. I couldn’t hear anything. I tried to picture her face, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t see it. I let out a soft sob, sat down, and began to cry.
Almost immediately, something inside shook me and stood me up. There was no coming back from that one-way street. I felt a knee judder, and I looked down to see my legs continuing down the steps once more. As the last step gave way to wet, brown leaves on the path, I called out, again and again. Nothing. I wiped my nose, and breathed, softly. Slowly. And closed my eyes.
Time passed. How long? I don't know. Raindrops dabbed at my hood. I tried to picture her again, and this time, I could see her. I could smell her. Suddenly, something big and heavy hit me hard in the chest and threw me backward. Shocked, I flailed my arms in horror, and I felt my head barely graze the edge of the bottom stone step. A wet weight pressed down on my ribcage, and it was warm. I tried to open my eyes, and to my surprise, found out they were open. And there she was, Iris, muddy but happy, her tail going crazy as she licked my face.
I had plenty of layers on, and it was as much for the uncertainty and loneliness as the brisk chill. I know exactly where to look next, I lied to myself. A fragile veneer of confidence held everything together. It was born not of bravery, but necessity. I had to find her, beyond the threshold, beyond this dark veil. A step. A wobble. A curse.
It wasn’t long before I saw the first of them, rotting by the side of the road. I felt pity, then loathing, then immediate remorse. I waited, breath captive, for movement, for howls. Betrayer! Why did you live, as we died? I pulled my hood down in shame and started to run. I knew that they were merely motionless corpses, the unfortunate ones who had died that day. They were dead, every one of them gone. One thing kept me going: Iris.
I hadn’t seen another living creature for two months, but I sensed her constantly. Every corner I turned, every flickering shadow, even the moans of the wind. She was always there and always absent. I slowed to a walk by the park, and everything fell still. There was no sound at all, not even the whispers of ghosts. I looked at the button at the crossing. Press, it read. I pressed.
The traffic lights silently changed to amber, and then red. No cars were there. No cars stopped. No Iris. I realised I was ravenous. The crossing started to beep. I gasped. The green man appeared. I looked at him, then down, left to right; nothing. An empty road. The beeping continued. “Thank you”, I said to the green man. He did not reply. As I approached the shop, I heard her, heard her call. I cursed myself even as I turned. The grass and the trees on the hill in the park. A mocking wind whipping at my sides.
Most of the bread and fresh produce had rotted away. In habit I looked over the newspapers and magazines opposite the entrance. They hadn’t changed, of course. December’s magazines, papers from the 12th. I noticed that the lights were still on. How long would they keep going with no one in the power stations? I shook my head. Why was I thinking about this? I might care later, but I didn’t right now. I found a ring-pull tin and ate, and blinked for a moment. I found one for Iris too, her favourite. I thanked the empty store, and eventually willed myself back out again.
She loved being outside. Her delight at it was marvellous. I was sure that if she had the choice she would be out here during the day. I stopped like a statue on the pavement, eyes wide. All this time searching, I had never considered that she might be searching for me too. Where would she look for me? I turned it around in my mind. Of all our old haunts, I had been looking in her favourite places: the park, the old quarry. Which were my favourite places? I tried to focus. By the lakes, of course, but that was too far on foot. The canal. The canal.
My heart began to beat so furiously that I had to gasp to breathe. Automatically, I started to walk. My feet carried me lightly. I didn’t see the bodies. I didn’t feel the cold. My rituals of normalcy were forgotten as I traversed the noiseless roads. Everything was washed out by something in my heart, in my guts. Two things, actually. A burning hope. And a repetitive, repetitive dread.
As I took the second of the steps downward, my stomach sank. I could see the canal path and I realised that I half-expected her to just be there, looking up at me. She wasn’t, of course. This was too much to take, and I didn’t know which was worse, the hope or the dread. I walked down five or six steps, trying to focus on the smell of the bramble. It didn’t smell of anything. I couldn’t hear anything. I tried to picture her face, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t see it. I let out a soft sob, sat down, and began to cry.
Almost immediately, something inside shook me and stood me up. There was no coming back from that one-way street. I felt a knee judder, and I looked down to see my legs continuing down the steps once more. As the last step gave way to wet, brown leaves on the path, I called out, again and again. Nothing. I wiped my nose, and breathed, softly. Slowly. And closed my eyes.
Time passed. How long? I don't know. Raindrops dabbed at my hood. I tried to picture her again, and this time, I could see her. I could smell her. Suddenly, something big and heavy hit me hard in the chest and threw me backward. Shocked, I flailed my arms in horror, and I felt my head barely graze the edge of the bottom stone step. A wet weight pressed down on my ribcage, and it was warm. I tried to open my eyes, and to my surprise, found out they were open. And there she was, Iris, muddy but happy, her tail going crazy as she licked my face.
