There is no television.
There is no radio.
There is no hum of electricity.
There is no sounds of cars polluting the air.
You would think it was silent, but you would be wrong.
There is birdsong.
There is the howl of a wolf miles away.
There is the sound of rain falling off leaves after a storm.
There is the way the ground crunches under your feet, and the sound of release.
You would think it was serene, but you would be wrong.
There is violence here.
There is loneliness here.
There is decay here.
There is the end near.
You would think it was hopeless, but you would be wrong.

Dearest Susan, 

I would say I hope this letter finds you well, but since there is no mail system, and no home address to send to, I know I’m writing to the wind. But maybe the air will carry my memories to you. On a fall leaf, or a spring flower blowing through the air. I wonder if you are still in Arizona? If so, did you suffer? The heat from the central blast probably made it to you. I think about you sometimes. Late at night when the air is cool, I imagine we are back in your Corvette, counting stars while you rested your head on my chest, your hair smelling of strawberries. Or when I pass an abandoned movie theater, I can taste the butter from the popcorn on your lips, rich and full of life.
All of this is fantasy, but nostalgia is a powerful drug, and sometimes it is all we need to carry on. In this daily abyss I try to see the light at the end of the tunnel, something to hold onto. But every corner turns into another embarrassment to humanity. Every time we get news from neighboring towns, it gets darker and less hopeful. What if we are the last generation? What if the earth has indeed had enough of us? Our wars seem so petty now. What we would give to go back to such ignorant arguments? To the victors go the spoils, but what victory is this life? 

Anyway, If you ever close your eyes and feel the wind kiss you, I hope you imagine me, and it gives you some small comfort, 

Yours,
Thomas.

The radio tower sat high in the Smokies. At the watchtower you could see the Carolina mountains to the east. To the west the rolling hills of Tennessee. June was keeping watch while Bobby and Melissa were cooking their dinner, a caught fish and small greens. A small propane stove still worked here, the tower hooked directly into a government pipeline. One day it would run out but for the group it had provided plenty of meals and warm evenings up in their metal skyhigh home. June saw motion in the woods below and grabbed her binoculars. Out of the trees came Jessie and Ben, their hands entwined. June was slightly jealous of them, finding each other when the options were so few. But Ben was terrible in bed, at least that’s what Jessie told her. But sometimes late at night she would wake to their motion in the watchtower and see the dark shadows moving in harmony. Jessie was quiet throughout, perhaps bored, but June still envied her. 

June had a boy once, until he was mean and she sent him away. Maybe she could have given him a pass but her mother always taught her not to suffer men. She missed her mother terribly these days. She would have liked it up here where you could feel the wind blow thru your hair.
“Sing low, sweet chariot” she would sing to June in her baby days, walking through Appalachia looking for a safe haven, and going from place to place. Until she no longer could walk without pain. And one night while June was sleeping she wandered off into the wilderness and did not return. June held out hope for years that she would see her again, but now the math of fantasy gave way to the reality of nonfiction. 

“Dinner is served.” called Bobby, and a few minutes later Ben and Jessie would climb up and join them. They sealed the hatch below them that led to the long staircase down to the ground. Only they could open it from the inside. It kept them safe. They settled down for the meal, as they did every night. Shared the evening in the Smokies, enjoying each others company, and slept under the stars.

It was a good castle in the sky. 

The Asheville Zine Fest this year did a collection called Remembering Helene with proceeds benefiting Beloved Asheville. I was happy to include my thoughts below in the zine.

I remember watching cartoons with the kid when the lights went out.
I remember the way the sounds of chainsaws permeating through the air told us something was wrong.
I remember walking down the road to see it unpassable, people just wandering in the streets.
I remember not being able to send a text or a call. Or a way to say “We ARE Okay”, when so many were not.
I remember a serpentine maze of roadways with trees hanging over, ready to crash at any moment.
I remember a sigh of relief when my family got out of town.
I remember missing my son the entire time he was gone, but glad he was able to sleep in comfort.
I remember the quiet, and how dark the house was at night. Stillness like never before.
I remember working harder than I ever had before for a week straight, just to give people a little sense of normalcy, and an ability to buy food for their families as the normal networks were down.
I remember almost quitting when corporate greed outweighed common sense.
I remember the companies who helped setting up mobile hotspots, or providing free food.
I remember the local volunteers doing what they could, when they could.
I remember the internet bill coming, while there was no internet.
I remember sitting in my car listening to Am radio for the first time in years for any news.
I remember being thankful I had an inflatable hot tub to flush the toilet with its water.
I remember eating what I could from the fridge before it all went bad.
I remember the cans of cold beans for dinner after.
I remember the tightness in my chest.
I remember just crying at a stop sign after a long day.
I remember the first time I traveled and saw the destruction.
I remember realizing for the first time how bad it all was.
I remember the sigh of relief every time a friend checked in.
I remember realizing that all of this stuff didn’t protect any of us.
I remember the day the power came back, and hearing people cheer.
I remember slowly finding our footing, hoping to be back to something normal.
I remember.
I remember.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget.

Alone on an island in the south pacific. Alone and carving into another tree for firewood. The gas mask rests in your boat on the far side of the island. Your long rifle sits nearby at your partially made shelter. Alone, but not disturbed by it. At peace with the simple things, at peace with no more war. You check your bandages and the wound is healing, but when you close your eyes the blood is still caked thick.
Alone on an island with nothing but your survival skills. They’ve gotten you this far. You lay and bask in the ocean sun, the salt licking your teeth. The sounds of waves crashing , and not a care in the world. 

If you could forget your wars.

“Би агуу эзэнт гүрнийг байлдан дагуулсан ч миний амьдрал дэндүү богинохон байсан тул би чамд үлдээсэн юм.”
Тэр олон жилийн өмнө Хан ярьж байсан ч Батаарт тохирсон хэвээр байна. Тэрээр дэлхийн бүх харгис хэрцгий үйлдлээр жижиг хаант улсаа захирч байжээ. Зарим хүмүүс энэ хугацаанд түүний ард түмэн бусад газраас илүү эрх чөлөөтэй байсан гэж хэлэх байсан ч хэн ч юу ч баримтжуулаагүй бол үүнийг мэдэхэд хэцүү байх болно. Тэрээр өөрийн хөвгүүд Мягмар, Пурев нар руугаа харж байхдаа амьдралынхаа ажилд маш их бахархаж байв. Тэд хүчирхэг хөвгүүд байсан бөгөөд түүний жижиг хаант улсыг удирдахад бэлэн байв. Тэд шударга, шударга байж, ард түмнээ тэжээнэ гэж найдаж байв. Дэлхий дахин гарч эхэлснээр сүүлийн үед сорилтууд тулгарч байсан. Цөөн хэдэн цагаан арьстнууд нөөцийг хулгайлахыг оролдож байна. Тэр тэдний толгойг Орос руу буцаан илгээв. Хатуу тактик боловч тэрээр цаашид цус урсахаас илүү муухай байдлыг илүүд үздэг байв. Үргэлж ухаалаг хятадууд түүний өмнөд хил рүү дайрсаар байв. Хатуу ширүүн газар нутаг, уур амьсгал нь ард түмнийхээ төлөө үргэлж хийж байсан зүйлээ хийж, бага зэрэг эрх чөлөөг олгосон.
“Аавыг хэн удирддаг вэ?” Пурев ахыгаа түүн шиг харахыг хүсэв. Тэрээр төрөлхийн удирдагч байсан ч уламжлал нь Мягмар болно гэдгийг мэдэж байсан. Батаар гараа аваад өөрт байгаа бүх хүчээрээ атгав.
“Таны ахыг ингэж нэрлэх болно, гэхдээ түүнд таны тогтвортой гар, цаг нь ирвэл орох чадвар хэрэгтэй болно.” Хувь тавилан удаан хугацааны туршид зөвлөхийн үүрэг гүйцэтгэснийг мэдээд Пурев obeidenace толгой дохив. Аав нь өөр нэг ишлэл хэлсэн. Нэгийг нь тэр тэдэнд байнга хэлдэг байсан.
“Армийн хүч чадал шиг гэр бүлийн хүч чадал нь бие биедээ үнэнч байдаг.”
Мягмар аавуудаа өөр гараас атгаж, Батаар эцсийн амьсгалаа авах үед тэд хамтдаа суув. Ах дүү хоёр дотно байсан ч одоо тэд өөр зүйл байх ёстой байв. Эрх мэдэлгүй хүмүүст долгионы нөлөө үзүүлэх алдаа гаргахгүй байх, шударгаар захирах, оролдох нь тэдний ээлж байв. Хаа нэгтээ дунд байгаа өндөр даалгавар.
“Ард түмэн нь аз жаргалтай болтол удирдагч хэзээ ч аз жаргалтай байж чадахгүй.”

Oleksander set the tent up quickly to prepare for the long day of waiting. The Saraha had proven more challenging for him than he could have imagined. The long days of sitting in the makeshift shelter waiting for the killing sun to go down. His party moved only for a few hours each day at dawn and at dusk. The rest of the time was just waiting. Still the scientist said they were close but how did he know? Everything was brown and orange. And their water rations ran low. Jorge was now fully sober and more of jerk than ever before. He grated on Oleksanders nerves. But they pressed on, trying to find a place for this precious seed, to restart a little bit of the world again, in this dead place. 

His company had run across some Berbers the other day. They were strange people to him, wholly unaffected by the outside world, just living their desert lives the way they had for thousands of years. They exhcanged goods then and Oleksander was happy for the Jellab he had traded for. Its wool kept him warm during the cool nights.  Often he would lay in the sand and look up at the universe above. One common thing here in the desert and Siberia was there was no artificial light to block out the stars. It made him feel small and unimportant. But also hopeful that there was something else out there. Something shimmering and beautiful.

“In so much as you can afford this, what would you have?”

He thought about it for a moment, looking over the baked goods, his mouth watering at these things he had not tasted in years. He counted the coins one more time for good measure. Truthfully he couldn’t afford any of it but his heart won the game as he pointed to the chocolate croissant on the corner. “A good choice. Just made these this morning.”
She handed him the bread and his hands shook. He wanted to express some meaning of gratitude but looking at the clerk he could tell it was just a transaction to her. And how could it be anything else? She lived here in spledor in one of the few cities left on Earth. She did not know what it was like out there. To hold a piece of bread like this in most parts was a delicacy. And to her it was something she baked daily. He shuffled off his steps shaky taking him to a small table in the corner. Slowly he studied the croissant, the chocolate peeking out on the edges. He took a bite with joy he hadn’t experienced in years.
It was just a croissant but a tear hit his eye, knowing he had finally made it back to some small part of the world he left behind. Maybe he could call this place home.

It was quiet in their home tonight. The authorities had ordered an electrical outage. It was hot in the hovel they called home. Bertie sat in a far corner of the room using a flashlight to shuffle through the pile of cards they had found last month. There was a few with creatures and stats on them. Her sister Candle had guessed it was for some sort of game. Bertie didn’t care but the yellow creature with a sharp tail and red cheeks amused her. She thought he was cute. There was also a lenticular card of a man playing baseball. She shifted the card left and right in the light, watching his muscles swing the bat back and forth. It was wizard technology as far as she could tell.
Candle sat across the room sewing a shirt that Bertie had ripped accidentally last weekend. What would she do without her sister? Candle started humming a song. It made Bertie look up from her cards.
“What is that?”

Candle smiled, “Rosette. Galvin taught me it.”
Galvin. This guy who started coming around. Bertie didn’t like him but Candle did. And she tried to give her sister all the grace when it came to boys. She always had a soft spot for them. Bertie didn’t care at all. She dreamed of telescopes, space shuttles, and animals with large sharp teeth. She looked at her sister sewing. One day Candle would get pregnant with one of these boys. She knew things would change then. But for now, it was the two of them, as it had always been. Bertie put the cards down, went over to her sister moving the sewing gear away. She rested her head on Candles shoulder embracing her.
“Rosette you say…. It’s nice Candle. Sing it to me please.”

The cave system was dark but lit enough for passage. And it was efficient for the hundred or so survivors on this side of the Mexican border. The air above was toxic still to this day and the people who had been lucky enough to be in the Houston tunnels survived as well as they could down here. Luckily there was an aquifer here at the old cistern and enough skylights throughout the old network to grow plants. It was enough to have a semblance of life while everything above in the maze of empty quiet highways collected radioactive dust. But two factions had slowly formed, those who felt like they had enough, and those who didn’t. The have-nots grew discontent and started slowing causing trouble. The haves at first didn’t even notice. Not until their food supply began getting smaller.
One of them decided to make an example and ordered a few farmers to be rounded up. It was a gruesome day but all it did was fan the flames of revolution.  It was on this day, in the middle of chaos that Mirabel Annette Julian Jones was born. Born of fire, and in thirty years time, the savior of the human race. But that’s a story for another day. We have a long way to go first.