There was the sound of dripping water. The air was thick with ash, its blackened color covered everything in sight. The sun’s rays hardly reached over the horizon while the faint puff of white mist left his mouth. Worn out and torn wool blankets covered the trembling bodies. The fire’s orange glow slowly died down over the night, leaving only a further pile of ash and faint embers. It was the middle of the cold season and the world was dead. Trees bore no leaves, the snow that fell from the sky was mixed with black, and the bitter winds cut through the thickest of clothing.
Carefully, a young teen took away his blanket, placing it over the only of figure beside him, who did not stir. He watched the child sleep, watching as the blanket rose and fell with each breath. When the teen brought himself to move, he stepped away from the small huddle of a camp, walking towards the road. With the trees cleared, it was much easier to see the sun. Its shining yellowish glow barely peeking over the small town. Houses were burned to the ground and caved in, cars crashed into one another as well as other objects, trees had fallen over, and everything was covered with a black snow. The silence was painful to his hearing. Not a single sound was heard. The birds that normally chirped around this time were silent, the scurrying of a stray cat or dog was left unheard. There was simply no sound. It was the loudest his ears ever heard. Dimming eyes checked around before heading back to camp. He was not only the eyes for himself, but for the other.
The child was still sleeping even when he returned. He did not bother to wake him, for he needed his rest. The teen worked quickly on bringing the fire back to life, throwing in new wood and lighting it once again. He dug through the wagon, finally plucking off a small frying pan and the food that rested on top of everything., mainly canned foods. He opened up the aluminum container, peeling back its lid and pouring the contents in the pan. The sizzling pan woke the child up and he watched the body fly forward, blankets thrown about without a thought. A normal routine.
“I’m here,” he called to the child, watching the panicked expression quickly calmed. “Are you hungry?” he asked him,
“I’m always hungry,” the child pointed out.
The child was right, the question was foolish to ask. Food was hard to find and they needed to use it sparingly. The teen left the pan over the fire, taking the blankets the child had thrown and put them on top of the wagon. He pulled out two cups as well as a spoon before walking over to the child. He took his hand and led him to the fire. It was colder this morning and the fire would prevent the fragile boy from freezing.
“Here, keep yourself warm,” he commented lightly. The teen focused back on the food, taking it off the fire and pouring an even amount into each cup. He left to spoon for the child, taking his hand and gently placing it around the mug, leading his other hand to the spoon.
“I can do it myself,” the child spoke.
“I know that,” was all the teen said.
Silence followed after and the pair quickly finished off their meal. It was not long before they continued moving again. Trailing behind them was a faded red wagon, its paint chipped off and its wheels squeaking every few moments. Nailed to the sides were planks of wood, rising the sides so that they were able to carry more items. The teen held the handle of the wagon in one hand and in the other hand he held onto the child’s.
The whistling wind cut through the worn coats. It had started to snow again, black and white flakes mixed together as they became slush hitting the ground. Every few moments, he found his eyes searching behind them. Nothing was there. Nothing was ever there, but the feeling of being followed was difficult to shake off.
“It’s cold.” The boy’s voice cracked as he spoke.
“I know.” His voice weary as he spoke.
“Can we rest?”
“We’ve only gotten started.”
“What do you see?”
The conversation happened each day, several times a day. With the boy’s eyesight stolen from him the day he was born, he learned to depend on other senses. It amazed him to see this child interact with the world. The dimmed, almost hopeless eyes, met with the child’s own, dead eyes. For a moment, they simply stared at one another, although the boy unaware of what he was looking at.
Carefully, a young teen took away his blanket, placing it over the only of figure beside him, who did not stir. He watched the child sleep, watching as the blanket rose and fell with each breath. When the teen brought himself to move, he stepped away from the small huddle of a camp, walking towards the road. With the trees cleared, it was much easier to see the sun. Its shining yellowish glow barely peeking over the small town. Houses were burned to the ground and caved in, cars crashed into one another as well as other objects, trees had fallen over, and everything was covered with a black snow. The silence was painful to his hearing. Not a single sound was heard. The birds that normally chirped around this time were silent, the scurrying of a stray cat or dog was left unheard. There was simply no sound. It was the loudest his ears ever heard. Dimming eyes checked around before heading back to camp. He was not only the eyes for himself, but for the other.
The child was still sleeping even when he returned. He did not bother to wake him, for he needed his rest. The teen worked quickly on bringing the fire back to life, throwing in new wood and lighting it once again. He dug through the wagon, finally plucking off a small frying pan and the food that rested on top of everything., mainly canned foods. He opened up the aluminum container, peeling back its lid and pouring the contents in the pan. The sizzling pan woke the child up and he watched the body fly forward, blankets thrown about without a thought. A normal routine.
“I’m here,” he called to the child, watching the panicked expression quickly calmed. “Are you hungry?” he asked him,
“I’m always hungry,” the child pointed out.
The child was right, the question was foolish to ask. Food was hard to find and they needed to use it sparingly. The teen left the pan over the fire, taking the blankets the child had thrown and put them on top of the wagon. He pulled out two cups as well as a spoon before walking over to the child. He took his hand and led him to the fire. It was colder this morning and the fire would prevent the fragile boy from freezing.
“Here, keep yourself warm,” he commented lightly. The teen focused back on the food, taking it off the fire and pouring an even amount into each cup. He left to spoon for the child, taking his hand and gently placing it around the mug, leading his other hand to the spoon.
“I can do it myself,” the child spoke.
“I know that,” was all the teen said.
Silence followed after and the pair quickly finished off their meal. It was not long before they continued moving again. Trailing behind them was a faded red wagon, its paint chipped off and its wheels squeaking every few moments. Nailed to the sides were planks of wood, rising the sides so that they were able to carry more items. The teen held the handle of the wagon in one hand and in the other hand he held onto the child’s.
The whistling wind cut through the worn coats. It had started to snow again, black and white flakes mixed together as they became slush hitting the ground. Every few moments, he found his eyes searching behind them. Nothing was there. Nothing was ever there, but the feeling of being followed was difficult to shake off.
“It’s cold.” The boy’s voice cracked as he spoke.
“I know.” His voice weary as he spoke.
“Can we rest?”
“We’ve only gotten started.”
“What do you see?”
The conversation happened each day, several times a day. With the boy’s eyesight stolen from him the day he was born, he learned to depend on other senses. It amazed him to see this child interact with the world. The dimmed, almost hopeless eyes, met with the child’s own, dead eyes. For a moment, they simply stared at one another, although the boy unaware of what he was looking at.
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