I
“Tiny little blades, rising and rising, swinging and swooing1. Green elegant leafs, protruding from intricate mazes of silky brown stems, with feisty spikes, defensive and ready.
The little ant climbing these dangerous skyscrapers had only one goal in mind: the meal for the family.
Bright rays started to pierce through the openings in the interwoven brown branches. The occasional twig, casting a shadow on the curved colossal leaves whose humid breath still hovered over the wet dirt and condensed to funnel water to a city-work of leaves. In the distance a little bird started to chirp excitedly. Soon, an orchestra of birds joined at the second movement.
Ah. Nature. So beautiful. So full. The little ant paused for a few seconds and looked up. Quickly wiggled its head from the blinding light, and continued on the dark path.”
II
“Why do you keep reading those stories?”
“I don’t know. I like them. They remind me of what once was.”
“Life was never that perfect.”
“But, it was better.”
“Yeah, yeah. Why don’t you go and fetch some water?”
“I’ll get it Dad, you can stay here.”
III
I’ve been trying to think of a better time. I’ve meditated like those monks used to do. You know? From those stories. I also like that chanting called Gregorian Chanting. They don’t make mp3 players anymore, but I have one. Battery is running out, but they still make batteries.
It’s weird. It has not been that long since it happened, you know? I’ve been trying for a long time to figure out what exactly happened. It was gradual. According to what they teach us at school. People say it was the government’s fault. That if they had been thinking right, it wouldn’t have happened. Others say that it has been going on since the dawn of mankind. I don’t know what to think.
I do like the stories of the past. Of the colors! The singing birds! We keep birds in special dome houses now. They used to fly in the sky freely. It’s kind of hard to imagine anything flying in such darkness though.
I better go and get that water.
IV
An old termite-eaten door unlocked, and the boy peaked outside. As he glanced swiftly left and right, he stepped outside holding on to his cap.
Powerful drafts of air blasted the door closed and rippled the boy’s clothes. The boy walked.
The world’s breath: magnificent. The aggressive but playful wind carried with it the wonders of the world: bank notes along with résumés and bills and journal notes and newspapers and kindergarten drawings of big and small cats, dogs, and horses, of families of two, three, four, and five. It was all there. It was all in the wind.
Rusty rebars spiked out of earthquake cracked roads and decaying buildings. The old fire hydrant, oxidized a beautiful red, shimmered with the broken and fallen windows of the old apartment building to its right. The dark clouds suddenly hovered angrily, threatening a storm, but just as quickly calmed to the rhythm of the wind and continued to cast down their gray glances.
The boy stood on top of a crevassed hill made of piled cement and rock. He quickly ducked as the Daily View zipped by his ears. He got back up and looked to his far left. He squinted as he pierced the air with his eyes, focusing on some light emitting by the horizon. He jumped off his little conquered hill and continued walking towards the light.
The fire was dying out; the boy instinctively grabbed the nearest piece of withering wood and threw it at the failing light. A spark. Some smoke. Ah. The fire was resurrected. Success. The boy hinted at a smile, looked down, wiped the floor from its dust and dirt and sat down.
Surrounding the boy stood old wooden houses, their foundations laughing at themselves and their pain. Beaten, but standing, the wood refused to die.
A disturbing but stomach-awakening scent reached the boy. Dead rat. The boy excitedly followed the scent, rushing past the twisted street, hoping to get there first. Some other critters had already begun feasting. The boy grabbed a loose metal bar from an abandoned and decrepit building and smacked his enemies. Cockroaches flew through the air gasping in fear, smaller rats scurried to the nearest hole, and some ants scattered about either moving to the empty street or the empty building. The boy eagerly grabbed the rat and put it in his sack, its aroma entered his nostrils as he inhaled slowly to enjoy the soon-to-be dinner…or breakfast?
Either time was off, or mankind’s biological clocks. One or the other. It was hard to tell. It didn’t matter anyways. Life was simpler. Eat. Sleep. Scout for food. Eat. Sleep. Simple. The dark gray clouds whose shadows cast darkness upon the people everyday proved enough for the romantically hearted. Many songs had been written about the beauty of the sky. Occasionally, for those lucky enough, a gap in the sky allowed for a rare ray of light. Only a few get to see these rays because not many wander outside anymore. The rarity of such phenomenon is what brings out the youth to explore the untamed world besides going to get water or hunting.
The boy started to head back, a little disappointed because he forgot the location of the Water Basement. He had only gone there a few times before. How was he supposed to remember anyways? He then remembered where he was. He was near the old park! The Water Basement was next to the old park under a sign that read MeIro. He began to back to the street and began to follow the metal circles in the ground. He reached a corner, glanced to his left and saw an open field in the middle, to which he began sprinting too. In the center of the park, in the center of the fallen dark brown trees, in the center of the rusty but dignified benches, he desperately looked. Tilting his head left, right, up and down. Sweat began to trickle down his neck. That uncomfortable humid feeling of claustrophobia encircled his mind. Everything was zooming in and out. The boy took out an old handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it on his mouth and nose. His swelled eyes and face cooled down, and his vision cleared. And there, next to the rusty metal trashcan read MeIro. Relieved, the boy moved.
