Backwards

partially inspired by cormac mccarthy's 'the road'

Backwards

I.

Surely enough the rain came. Acid rain that stung when it hit his cheeks. Pinpricks of pain. 

The dampness made him cough. His weak lungs spewed up blood and bits of viscera, maroon not red because of the lack of oxygen in the air. The rain no longer smelt of rain, just ozone and wet ash. There would be no rainbows later -- you needed the sun for that: light, prisms, a spectrum of color. The explosions had blotted the sun out of the sky. 

Grey.

The only color nature had left was grey. 

He picked up the gun and put a bullet in his head. 

II. 

The child had died. 

He had torn apart his old bed frame and nailed together a cross to put over the grave. It disappeared a week later. Somebody probably stole it for firewood. 

III.

"No -- Rebec -- no!"

The pigeons cooed outside. He could see them out the soot-blackened window, their heads bobbing comically to music no one could hear.

His wife was sobbing. 

"John, I can't -- I can't do this anymore. People out there, they're like savages. I'm afraid all -- the -- time. We have nothing -- " 

"We have each other -- "

"We have nothing -- nothing, goddammit!"

Her voice was shrill, hysterical. She was sobbing and he loved her. 

She was sobbing so hard and he loved her so much and their child was wheezing in the next room and he couldn't think, couldn't act, couldn't breathe when she walked out the door and into the cold, where he knew she would meet her eventual death away from him and his grasping, empty hands.

IV.   

The world was murdered on a Tuesday afternoon. He felt the rumble of the earth, heard the distant sound of glass breaking, steel bending, cement crumbling, screaming. 

In the city, thousands died, some instantly, others after spending days trapped beneath debris. Their numbers were nothing compared to the millions that succumbed to radiation poisoning. 

He was in shock. He did not cry. 

He did not cry until later.

V. 

He woke up Tuesday morning and made love to his wife. They were quiet about it, the bed barely creaking beneath them. She orgasmed in breathy little gasps, her exotic blond hair splayed out on the pillow like a Chinese fan. They did not want to wake the child.

He whispered: "I love you."

She whispered: "I love you too."

The sunrise soaked the room in shades of pink and peach. Most of the bedsheets had fallen to the floor. She smiled and told him she'd make blueberry pancakes for breakfast. He kissed her and said it was going to be a beautiful day. No chance of rain. 

None at all.

Author's Note

another 'starters' entry

Reviews

[DannyLynne Riley]

I absolutely luv'd this piece...I was engrossed from the start and thought it genious that the timeline was written backwards very very nicely done

[Hamkar]

I like the bluntness put into it of what is happening, yet you have to fill in most of the gaps. Very clever.

[ScarlettTheDreamer]

Wow, a beautiful story that empty words can't describe! I love it. Beautiful, truly beautiful.