On My Way Home

I am standing on a plain of blackness. The rusted shells of ships rise out of the obsidian glass. Dark clouds move overhead and orangeness rings the western horizon.

The little girls says, “Where have we been?”

I don’t remember.

The little girl says, “Who are we?”

I don’t remember.

The little girls says, “You don’t know very much.”

“No, I don’t,” I say.

I can feel the black glass growing over my feet, trying to plant me like the skeletal remains of the ships. I move on. The plain stretches to infinity in all directions. I move toward the light on the western horizon. It is a dark orange, as dark as the black clouds overhead. The little girl is following me.

“Why do you follow me,” I say.

“We have to stick together,” she says.

Why?

“There are so few left,” she says.

We walk toward the light in the west. We walk in silence, the cold wind whipping over our bodies with ever increasing force. My clothes are rags. I look at the little girl in her pretty pink dress and white stockings. She looks immaculate, like she is dressed for her first day of school. The wind does not touch her.

We walk like this for hours. She falls behind me until I can barely see her when I look back. We pass out of the sea of glass and rust and into a plain of tall grass. I look back at for the girl. She is standing right behind me. She is older, in her teens. She is wearing a rumpled school girl outfit. Her hair is shiny black. Her skin is tanned and smooth. She pierces me with her deep blue eyes.

“Where are we going?” she says.

Home.

“Where is home?” she says.

“I don’t know,” I say.

A path has been worn in the grass. I follow it. The grass comes up to my waist. Off in the distance I think I see men on horses. They are chasing someone across the steppe. I can hear them shouting in some exotic language. They catch the person they are chasing. I hear screams of agony. I look back at the girl. She is still piercing me with her eyes. The screams stop. I look for the men on horses, but they are gone. I can feel the stare of the girl drilling into the back of my head.

I begin running. I run and run. I run until I can no longer feel my body. I run until it is as automatic as breathing. Finally I feel the pressure of the girl’s stare subside. I allow myself to look back. The girl is right behind me. She is now a young woman. Her stare no longer pierces me. She is wearing a green coverall with insignias on the pockets and shoulders.

“Why were we running?” she says.

I don’t know.

“We can’t run away,” she says.

I look ahead. The grass is much shorter. In the distance I think I see a village. Soldiers march into the town. I watch as they murder all the peasants in the village. The villagers go silently to their deaths. The only sound is that of gunfire. The gunfire stops and the village is gone. I begin moving toward the light again. The light is getting brighter. The wind is getting stronger and warmer.

I walk for days like this. The girl is behind me all the time. I say nothing, I just walk. The light keeps getting brighter and the wind keeps getting stronger and hotter. I finally come to a small river. I bend down and take a drink. The girl bends down next to me. She is middle aged now, my age. Her clothes are tattered like mine.

“How much farther is it?” she says.

Not much farther now.

I look up and across the river. I think I see a city. I can see the people moving about their business, oblivious of each other. Some of the people go into a small building, but none ever come out of it. Men in uniforms stand on all the corners. It is amazingly soundless. I bend and take another drink. When I look up the city is gone.

I move toward the light. I am now traveling through a forest. The woman is behind me. The hot wind rips through the trees. I have to lean into the wind. I have to squint my eyes. I reach back and take the woman’s hand.

“Are we home?” she says.

“Almost,” I say.

Almost.

I move on with the woman clutched to me. The light is now blinding white. I can feel the wind melting my skin. The light envelopes me. The heat tears through me.

I’m not scared.

—————————————————

I felt like this on my way home.