The Long Road

 

The bitter struggle of opposing forces ended more than a year ago.

 

 

        The guards did not free either Jerit and Eniq (the last two prisoners of war in the northern sector). Their captors had simply gone home... leaving the men locked in their separate cages to whatever fate had in store.

 

        After calling for hours, the men each forced their way out of the shabbily built cells only to find that the ‘internment’ camp was now a ghost town. Giant piles of clothes and shoes were stacked in barn-like buildings - which paralleled a wide, hastily filled trough, which must contain the remains of all the people who had once worn them.

 

        That’s where the men met for the first time. Eniq had, amazingly, found one of his own shoes in the pile and was busy trying to recover its mate when Jerit appeared in the oversized doorway. Instantly they recognized that they were not the sole survivor of this hell and ran to each other’s arms, crying and hugging and smiling like reunited family.

 

        Their stories were so similar... non-combatants forced to march and then detained. Tortured - but not questioned - and now... inexplicably free. Their only thought was to follow the one road leading south from the camp... back toward home, family... and life.

 

        They shed the rags left on their bodies and chose from the finery that had been tossed aside and left behind... each wondering for what purpose had they been collected?  They chose sturdy shoes and lightweight clothes and jackets. They knew it was a long way to the squat red buildings that would mark the border... and that there would be no help for them between here and home. It was also not lost on them that their needs were being provided by those who prayed for... but did not see... this day of release.

 

        Dressed in the clothes of the dead... they started on the only task left to them: the long walk home.

 

        There was no food left at the camp. The best thing they could find was just a small jar to hold water. The barren hills of stub-grass stretched for miles beyond view... but there was a smile on their faces as their footsteps turned toward home.

 

        Three days later, after having found, and shared, less than one glass of water between them... both men were still shambling toward their goal... but smiles weren’t even conceivable. As they crested yet another ridge... there was still no sign of the border.

 

        The short brown grass had broken in patches surrounded by hard cracked dirt. The blistering sun alternated with windy, freezing cold nights... and there was no sign that a single person had ever come this way before, save the road itself. The road wound through the low hills... tending ever southward... but without a trace of it’s makers or a signpost to offer hope of a destination.

 

        That was the last night that they ever spoke.

 

        “What if it is the wrong road?”  Eniq croaked as his parched face winced with pain for doing so.

 

        “There was no other.”  Jerit replied as the two men huddled in the hollow where two small hills had faulted into a low cliff. It was the first night they had gotten any shelter from the freezing winds. They each gently pulled the last of the brown grass free from the earth and tried to eat the salty dry blades... saving the slightly better roots for the final mouthful.

 

        “We may have chosen the wrong direction.”  said Eniq... his throat slightly clearer.

 

        “We are heading south... toward home... beyond that I don’t know.”  Jerit had doubts of his own. Perhaps both directions on this road went toward home. This way wandered the desert while the other, filled with crossroads, trees and people, was only half as long.

 

        It could be true... but there was nothing to be done about it now.

 

        No bird signaled the dawn. Just the sharp rise in temperature and the shadeless glare meant it was time to start walking again.

 

        Both men were crumpled, dry reminders of the 20-somethings that had marched up a road (was it this road?) and into the camp.

 

        Now a dry wind began a steady pressure against them... as another hill fell to their relentless feet and still... nothing.

 

        The sun baked them. The wind eroded them. The miles pounded their joints until there was no spot that was not in pain... but they went on.

 

        Now the hills themselves began to rise and the road drove straight over one of the largest. Something sparked in both men’s memory... something about a long, wide hill that they crossed just at the border. They realized that this was that hill and that they were, finally, within reach of home. Their pace and spirits lifted and there may have even been a smile in their dirt-caked, sallow faces. As the steep grade came to a peak, the men had almost come to a trot. Then just as they might have broken into a sprint the hilltop gave way to a view of the next twenty miles.

 

        No border. No buildings. No people. Nothing.

 

        They stopped and blinked in the sunlight, wordlessly trying to console each other. Tearlessly grieving for the loss of what they’d dreamed  was so nearby.

 

        Eniq laid down on the sandy hillside. Jerit used what little energy he had to try and prod Eniq back to his feet.

 

        It was no use. The road ahead was long and perhaps pointless. Neither man had anything left to draw from.

 

        Eniq stayed staring blankly at the blank landscape.

 

        Jerit walked south.

 

----

 

        This was long before the last war... or the war before that.

 

        You’re thinking that I’m going to tell you that Jerit returned to his home and family and lived to old age as a spokesman for peace and perseverance... but I will not tell you any such thing.

 

        Both men are now long dead. Both men deserved better than they got. Both men, just like you and I, were on long, wearying roads with an end we cannot predict or, perhaps, even imagine.

 

        The meaning is what you choose to see in it.

 

        But stories do have endings... this one is simple:

 

        One man kept walking. 

 

 

Author's Note

This is another excerpt from my book Sunday Best.

Reviews

[Michael X]

very well written work barry, really is sharp reading , and cut to form, trimmed, and edited well,
One man kept walking. thats clever, the entire grasping image is transporting, and the reader
can easily envision the moment in happening, i really enjoyed the vivid imagery,
Dressed in the clothes of the dead"................impressive writing, i highly enjoyed, thanks

[Grace]

I enjoyed this story until the end. I wanted both to return home to smiling faces and happy lives. After torture and pain I wanted
them to find relief. But I suppose that goes against the point you were making. Reality is just what you have said. And one man kept
walking ...is a great life lesson.

How sad. But very well written. You truly are a gifted writer.