(This is the beginning of a much larger story obviously. I’m still editing most of it but figured I should post something)
1.
It had been nearly a year since I received a call from my mother, which was strange, when you consider she had to call at least three times a week, no less than one, and if she did: she would spend the first fifteen minutes of the next conversation asking me if I was mad at her or had I had enough food in the house. I had tried to call her but the I hadn’t had a land-line phone in ages and the mobile phone was as useful as a rock. If I had power to even recharge the damn thing, I couldn’t be sure I had service anyways; I cannot remember the last time I received a bill for it. I began to worry about my family nine months ago, but I was unable to make contact with them, it’s a wonder if they even received the letters I had placed in the public mailbox when I ventured in town. If they had received the letters: they haven’t had the decency to write back.
I made it a point to stay inside my apartment unless absolutely necessary; the hallway reeked of rotten eggs and feces, mixed in to one pungent odor, that was too hard to cover with a piece of cloth pressed over one’s nose or mouth. I figured most of the residents inside the three-story six-family apartment building had evacuated when the anchorman first warned to do so: at least no one ever answered a knock on their door. Yes, the evacuation orders were given, back when the television worked, before the storm hit; but I was too stubborn to leave with the rest; I’d rather not leave my apartment open to looters, who could snatch my computer, television, gaming consoles or various electronics that ceased to work anyways. The only way to pass time was by reading, writing or painting the walls, with items I picked up when I traveled in town. I had decorated my walls with purple, brown and blue colors that resembled little more than bruises, had I actually been able to damage the capillary located behind the plaster. I figured this was okay since I hadn’t seen my landlord in nearly a year: he must have left with the others.
When I did travel outside the confines of the building, I made sure to cover up — my eyes with a pair of swimming goggles I barely wore before everyone left, my neck with a light-blue scarf, left in my apartment by a previous female acquaintance, my hands with a pair of bullwhip leather work gloves, and a dark-flocculent overcoat, I had stolen from a store when no one was looking. The weather wasn’t cold, but it had an uncomfortable effect on your skin: rashes, the most irritating kind, ones that spread when you scratched them strenuously. And the air, coagulated, like invisible bricks smashing in to your face; you never had to worry about holding your breath. This place use to be known for the gentle breeze pullulating from the lakes that surrounded it; but the lakes were gone, just like everyone else. No, I never traveled outside, unless I needed food, supplies or wanted to mail a letter to my family, who never bothered to write me back.
I guess, I skipped a step; I am sure you are wondering what happened here. Why had everyone left? Well, everyone was here and then they walked away, or drove, if they were lucky enough to own a vehicle. Someone gave the order to evacuate — which was given to the masses by an anchorman, or anchorwoman, depending on what channel you were watching — to leave this place before something happened. I’m not really sure what; the weather seemed a little sketchy, for a two-week stretch in September: a record-setting heat wave, full of rain and powerful winds, followed by an uncommon cold wave, complete with snow, then another heat wave, even hotter than before, accompanied by flooding and finally, nothing; the weather just remained the same from that point out, it doesn’t get cold anymore, but the heat stays away too. To top if off, the sun is gone but it hasn’t gotten dark in a very long time — odd, but what do I know? It’s really hard to explain the weather pattern, but I thought it was foolish to suggest that it alone forced everyone to leave. Who knows? I’m not a meteorologist.
2.
The trip in town was probably shorter with a vehicle, but not having one handy, It seemed like a good four hours, two each way; long enough of a walk to take a break, usually at one of many vacant bus stops that littered the dirt, grass and asphalt mixture that use to be a road. I passed the time by inspecting the buildings along the way — how many had crumpled since the last time I took a stroll, or if any showed signs of life. When I traveled I usually carried a reusable bag — one of those eco-friendly bags that environmentalists were so gung-ho about — a book, and a kitchen knife in one of my coat pockets — you can never be too sure.
I have never seen anyone much less felt threatened by some ominous beast — who happened to be the only other survivor; I’m sure if someone had survived, they’d be just as happy as I think I would be if we met. I just started carrying the knife because of a warning I noticed on one of the bus stops; admittedly, I feel stupid for being paranoid.
On my way to town, carrying a letter, hoping for some reply from the family; I took a break at a bus stop — this one had a shelter and a bench, some only had one or the other, all were covered in graffiti. I forgot to grab a book to read, so I decided to read the tagging to pass the time. There was never a bus — or any vehicle for that matter — learned that the hard way, waited for one a week after the commotion died down and ended up falling asleep — no bus.
The street-grade artwork was a who’s who of love announcements, wannabe gangsters claiming they wuz here and a litany of disparaging remarks about world leaders, or nobodies, or at least no one who was around that could read the horrible things said about them. The only thing that caught my attention was the warning, in the middle of the bench, crudely carved above other ramblings: Bware The Redcaps!
It seems childish to worry about a warning in the middle of a bench, on a bus stop, that hasn’t seen traffic in a year; still I carry a kitchen knife in one of my coat pockets.
Beware The Redcaps by Daniel Hucks is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License