John the Old

Short story about age.

Sentinels line up side by side, cold and unyielding to the onslaught of the mob. Lights illuminate the the avenue for miles, making vision unbearably clear. My hands, folds deeply wrinkling the translucent skin, grasp onto the metal fence, as I yell, “LET US PASS YOU B******S!” My voice is drowned out by others yelling hopeful insults. Gunfire goes off into the air as a uniformed officer takes to the center of the barricade with a megaphone. “By order of the government, this city is under quarantine and there will be no unauthorized movement in or out. Please return to your homes or you will be forcefully removed. A citywide curfew has been instated, beginning at 8:00pm. Trespassers will be dealt with swiftly and forcefully. Good night.”

The crowd doesn’t break, only becomes more forceful. Some begin to climb the tall chain-link fences as officers charge it with an electrical current, causing even the most passionate of the protesters to fall to the ground in pain. I look around for Mary but find only the pale, wide-eyed gaze of an older man.

The crowd stumbles backwards onto each other in confusion, some falling to their knees only to get buried under someone else’s feet. The screams are desperate, only becoming louder as smoke spurts from the tail-end of flying canisters. Its malicious poison fills my lungs and burns my insides and for a moment I am blinded.

Like an ocean current, I can feel the swell of bodies colliding, erupting in ice cold screams. My legs give out as my heels sink into the deflated belly of a woman. Through sodden eyes I look to her face to make sure it’s not Mary and in an instant I am swept away with the tide.

A hard blow hits at my back and I arch forward into another hard impact at my chest . All the wind leaves me as another blow makes contact with my hip. My hands scan around me only to push myself away from a dark approaching figure.

I take to the side street shadows that soon blend into nightfall. Already unfamiliar faces become half hidden in darkened passageways. I call out for Mary but no one responds. Strangers push away from me as if to protect themselves from my sorrow. Where was my Mary?

It had been just this morning that she had told me of our baby growing inside her. I knew we were having a girl that would have her same fiery tresses and calm disposition. We had spent the morning underneath the giant willow soaking in happiness, with my back against the trunk, she rested her head in the crook of my neck pulling at my arm hairs.

As I walk through the streets I come upon a broken water pipe draining softly into the curb and on the water’s edge I make out my reflection of a man who has aged a lifetime. This morning suddenly seems so long ago. I remember Mary is gone and I have no idea where I am.

I turn back to the avenue I escaped, unable to be alone.