A is for Aftermath

Aftermath

Silence awoke me. I opened my eyes, crusty from crying, and peered
myopically through the darkness that surrounded me. I could only just
make out the vague shapes of the furniture in the cellar, my
self-imposed exile. Darkness and silence, my two worst enemies.

At first I feared the silence, however after a while I became used it.
It was a pleasant relief from the thunder of the bombs that had rumbled
overhead. It was over. In just a few prized moments our world was
devastated, crushed like a precious flower in the hands of a young
child. I had survived the holocaust, but how many others were to join
me in the fight for survival, and how many had perished?

I lay in the shadows, eagerly listening for human noises. In the
distance the faint drumming of heavy rain could now be heard. That was
it-- no screams for help, no children crying, no dogs barking. I
listened to my own breathing for a few minutes, trying not to panic .I
couldn't remain here, and I had to see outside. It was getting too
claustrophobic. I stood up shakily, holding onto the cellar wall. It
was damp and chilly. But it was the touch of the brick wall that
reassured me. If it were still standing then surely other buildings
would be the same. I had to find out. I had to know. Rummaging around
haphazardly, my hand connected with my torch. My trusty little friend
who helped banish darkness. It was my only ally.

Now fully awake I could smell the mustiness of the underground room and
the stale remains of last night's tinned sausages and beans. My mouth
began to drool at the thought of hot food, a well-cooked steak with
mushrooms and chips followed by jam sponge and custard, then coffee.
Unfortunately not even the comforting thought of an aromatic meal could
lift my spirits. I trudged through what had been my haven, my refuge
from the world above. Dirty socks and pants were littered around, like
a teenagers bedroom. My foot connected with my "slops" bucket that was
overflowing with my waste. The stench was almost palpable, making my
eyes stream and bile rise to my mouth. I swallowed and kept moving. My
hand reached out and felt the gnarled wooden post of the banister. To
me it was the stairway to hell. I
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clutched onto it for support and slowly crept up the stairs. There were
only seven steps but each one seemed mountainous, each step bringing me
closer to my fate.

Holding my breath I pointed my torch at the cellar door. Maybe the
world above had disappeared completely, or would I end up in a foreign
land, like Dorothy and Toto? . On second thoughts, maybe I was better
off down here, living in my filth, with scarce food supplies, than out
there in no-mans land.
Curiosity got the better of me. My hand reached out and touched the
cold hard handle. As I pushed down, the door trembled and gave a loud
groan. If I didn't know any better I'd say it was trying to warn me. It
was as scared as myself. I straightened my shoulders and gave the door
a shove.

Surely my eyes were playing tricks on me. I stared at what had been the
laundry room. It was gone. Vanished. In its place was a vast wasteland.
Debris from what was once my house was scattered indiscriminately
around the front yard. It was as if half my home had been picked up
then carelessly tossed to the ground by some cruel giant.
Unfortunately, neighbouring houses had not fared as well as mine. All
that remained was heaps of rubble and ash, a few wisps of smoke still
rising from the graves of my friends' homes. Tears welled in my eyes
and I let them roll sadly down my cheeks.

My eyes were drawn upwards towards the sky. The downpour had ceased for
the time being, leaving the skies in a confusing combination of
colours. Violent shades of red and purple with streaks of gold coloured
the heavens, like a badly bruised face. I had never before seen such an
awe-inspiring sight. It was truly magnificent. Despite the recent
showers the air was still warm. I glanced warily at the sun, which
appeared red and angry. It shone fiercely in the afternoon sky, a
silent reminder of the past four weeks.

I stood in the stillness of my front yard, listening for anything,
anything from the Old World at all would have done. But there were no
leaves rustling on trees, no birds singing in the sky, no cars passing
by, not even the muffled cough of a stranger walking down the road.
Nothing. All that was left of the trees surrounding my garden were
black, charred sticks. Two battered blackened husks, originally cars,
had been tossed unceremoniously into my neighbour's garden. They sat on
the deadened earth, like a
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sculpture made by an ingenious artist. As far as the eye could see,
everything was covered with a film of white dust, a new coat for the
world.

I had expected to see bodies lying around, badly hurt or even dead. I
was almost disappointed not to find any. Obviously any people who had
not taken refuge when the sirens went off were either badly maimed or
killed instantly. Turned to dust. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Where
are you now God?

Kneeling down on the snow-like ground, I felt the rough charred
leftovers of the now dead grass. How I already missed the soft touch of
freshly cut grass, and the smell that heralded the oncoming of summer.
I ran my hand through the thin layer of powder that covered almost
everything in sight. The softness of the dust was a stark contrast to
the harsh brutality of my now desolate world. I stood up, running my
filthy hands through even filthier hair. Would I ever feel clean again?
Would flowers ever bud again? Did I want to survive?

With fresh tears streaming down my face I made my way back to my
cellar. I had seen enough and I didn't want to be part of it. I wanted
to die. I wanted to already be dead. It was then I remembered I still
had an old bottle of anti-depressants. Perhaps I was unconsciously
saving them for a day like today.

As was I carefully climbing over loose bricks and unrecognisable
objects I heard a noise. I jumped with the unexpected shock. Cold sweat
broke out on my forehead, my heart raced. As much as I yearned to hear
something, I was still surprised. Standing as still as a statue I
listened for further proof. Something was scratching and scraping very
close by. Yes, I had definitely heard it. It was coming from the rubble
in the next-door garden. A high-pitched yelping, someone in pain.
Excitement replaced fear as I raced over to the source. I'm coming,
hang in there. Please. Hang on! The noise became louder; whoever it was
had heard me! I reached the ruins of the house and began tearing bricks
and concrete away. My hands quickly became bloody and scratched, two of
my nails snapping as I cleared my way. The yelping became louder. It
wasn't a human sound. It was an animal. I felt a brief twinge of
disappointment but carried on nonetheless. In a flash it came to me! My
neighbours had recently acquired a puppy, a gorgeous little golden
Labrador. Oh please God let this little soul survive, what has he ever
done to you?

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Then I saw him. A brief glimpse of golden fur matted with blood. I
continued to unearth the animal, now with renewed hope and vigour. The
small gap quickly turned into a large opening and I managed to get a
hold of the dog.
Come on boy! You can do it. We're just about there. That's it come on
then. Good boy!

I pulled him out and we both collapsed into a heap on the dirty ground
nearby. The puppy was in remarkable condition considering what he had
been through. His paws were badly scraped and his ribs were clearly
showing on his emaciated body. Poor health did not hinder him though as
he launched into a licking frenzy .To say he was happy to see me was an
understatement.

In the absence of a collar and nametag I thought I'd better give him a
new name. A new name for a new life. It was to be Victor, for he had
already conquered my heart and beaten the odds. If this little soul
could survive then so could I. We would be together.