Home

Nothing felt like home anymore. The empty store, my starving belly, my mother buried in the back of the building. I began to fear home would become a lost concept. I began wondering if I should continue existing. I spent my days hunting the few bleeding animals left in the area and my nights staring at a stain on the floor. I contemplated life. The purpose of continuing. Was it to bring more life into the world? If so, my opportunity passed me by. Perhaps my purpose was to make some sort of change, or to find something. I tried to write, and to read. To learn of the old world, the war. The definition of hearth and home. The idea behind electricity, plumbing. Comforts that people threw away over an explosion three generations ago. I couldn’t grasp such richness in life. Such fulfillment as the characters of every story felt. I decided on what would have been my 23rd birthday to leave and explore the new earth. Terrified, and excited. I started by paying Wheat one last visit. She pulled me in immediately and I remembered to grab the ladder this time. I climbed down and greeted her sheepishly. “Hi Wheat.” I began. She scowled so harshly that I questioned if I got her name wrong. “Hi Dirt. Why are you here?” and there, standing in her living room together I felt my heart in my chest. I had not felt it beat since I last saw her. I hesitated  and she growled. “Dirt?” she demanded. “I-I just wanted to see you, one last time. I’m leaving. Going to go be a worm in a new garden.” She softened her scowl and tilted her head curiously. “oh?” I nodded.  

Dear reader, I’d love to tell you this was the point she admitted her love for me and convinced me it was completely requited, but that isn’t the truth. She kept right with her behavior. At least she is consistent. The next thing she said was “I hope you brought supplies with you. You owe me.” I felt hot with rage and screamed at her “I don’t owe you f**k-all Wheat!” and she stepped back. Before I knew it there was a cold metal blade at my throat. “Stone, don’t kill him yet.”  

I turned slowly and found a very silent young man who couldn’t be older than Wheat or I. Thoroughly confused and not particularly interested in broaching the topic I decided it would be best to go limp and slip from his grasp. That failed and he cut my neck. I frequently forget how warm and messy blood is. He held me to his chest and she stepped closer. “Apologize, give us all you have, then you can go live your life Dirt. Far as f**k away from here.”  

I began emptying my pockets. My little knife, a stone that I rub my thumb against when I’m nervous, a few little metal treasures from my walk.  She collected the treasures and pondered over the stone. “let him go Baby.” And just like that I was dropped. I hadn’t realized my feet were off the ground. I took off like a spooked fish, out the hatch and down the road.  

Now, with nothing but hope in my pocket I began wandering. Not too far down the road I found the corpse of the Hill I had stabbed. It was sitting upright against the house and powered down. It’s silvery skin glinting in the light of the setting sun. I knelt down and whispered to it a thoughtful apology. A word I picked up on in my later reading was Blasphemy. This seemed to be the closest I can imagine to describing what I had done. The people of the before times had angels. I killed one.