Like Blue Skies

A short work, mostly experimental for me. A young woman's mental decline in a new, horror-filled world. This is my first first-person work, and it does require some imagination when reading.

Sometimes life before was a blur; Friday would come and I would ask myself where the week had gone. Sometimes life before was like eternally riding the moving sidewalk at the airport. You look ahead at the stretch in front of you, and you think to yourself, hey, I'll never get there. You were always wrong, of course. Before you could let your breath out, the sidewalk dumped you on the other side, two or three years older. You stood around with your friends, laughing, spinning around trying to see where the time had flown off to.

I finally found it. The Now, what the world as become; that's where it all went. It never really left; it just concentrated itself in a different pocket of time in my life. All this is really just a longer sidewalk that moves so much more sporadically. I still spin around, searching, looking, hunting. It's just not for time, any more. I'm no longer concerned with fading memories of birthdays or eroded milestones. I've moved up to a bigger game.

Where are those friends, who spun around with me?

Where did the laughter echo away to?

Where's that God damn airport, even?

They don't exist in this time, unless you consider the burnt out memories of times before now. I suppose somewhere in this world, there's an airport. A hollow, shelled husk of what I'd refer to as an airport. Maybe my friends still exist in some way. Maybe they exist beyond the weakening memories. Do they remember me? Am I just a weak, rough memory for their minds to ponder over, as well? Am I just a wilted, discarded husk in a long since abandoned airport?

Sometimes I worry that I'll never fly again. Sometimes I worry that the clouds will always waltz so high above me; their only contact being the occasional tears of pity they cry down on this ragged planet, and the husks of what once lived here.

I can't remember the last time I left this tent. I lie here, staring up. And up. And up. I've become so familiar with the smooth fabric over my head, shielding me from those tears that fall down, full of pity for what I've become. The slick, cool feeling as my hand brushes against it...the canvas is turquoise. It loves to look down at me, almost as if asking if I can remember the sky.

I often wonder if I do remember the sky. I can't help but feel like the sky was something that existed before this world. It was something to be enjoyed, like the warm waves of summertime sun, running through the dew-stained grass, laughing to yourself and looking left and right and back and forth.

And up.

The turquoise canvas is the closest thing I know that looks like blue skies. It's soft, almost reflexive it its kindness. Blue skies mean no harm, they are protectors. I almost not dare to think reach back into my memories, because with blue skies comes Sawyer, and...

Sawyer.

I promised myself that Sawyer would stay gone. He's the reason I'm trapping in this f*****g tent, staring up at a turquoise canvas that pretends to be the blue skies from my memories. He's the reason I'm alone inside this barrier. The others don't like that I hole up in here. I heard them. I heard their words. They wanted to leave me, and move on before those...things...got back. The monsters. The things that took Sawyer from me, and from this world. Maybe he's back in the world of blue skies and airports and laughter. I can only hope so. He promised he would never leave me.

I haven't heard the murmurs in a while. It could be days, but I have no way of knowing. My arms are too weak to reach the zipper, and I fear my eyes have dulled too much to look at the sun-touched earth. Maybe they finally did leave me. I can't blame them, much. All I hear now is the soft wind swishing against my turquoise atmosphere, and the sounds of those monsters. They wander around me, encircling me, making sure I never see those blue skies again. They haven't tried to attack. Maybe I'm just too quiet, and they don't notice me. Maybe they pity me. Maybe they just think I'm dead, just like they are. Maybe I should just--

BANG.

Thud.

Hmm?

BANG.

Thud.

Something's out there, fighting their way through the nightmares. I wish them luck, as hopeless as they are. They'll never get through, no one can. You have to be quiet, you have to be still. You have to give up on the blue skies and armor yourself against the sun.

BANG.

Thud.

Ziiiiiiiiiip.

Someone's opening the tent. Will they think I'm one of those things? Will they leave me, breaking my turquoise home to shambles?

Ziiip.

Sawyer's face broke the barrier of my turquoise world, and smiled down at me, his head no quite blocking out the sky above. It...it was blue. I can't help but smile, as my memories are reaffirmed. My love reaches down, stroking my cheek as I soak in the sun for the first time in what seems like an epoch. The sun is warm, and I can almost feel the wind rushing past my face, the way it did in my memories. I wish I had the strength to run. The sky is clear and blue, and big and wide and wonderful. I wish my eyes were strong enough to stare up at it forever, the way I gazed at the canvas day after day. Sawyer's face was so refreshing, so powerful in a world full of canvas and murmurs and memories. He kept his word, he came back for me. He was never really gone. Just like the time I spent so long looking around for, he had just concentrated in a new patch in my life. I was so grateful, so happy.

I wish my voice was strong enough to warn him what was coming up behind him.