Names and Places

When there's no one left to talk to, what's the point of a name? When there's no one left to live with, what's the point of a place?

            Her name must have mattered once.

But it was so long ago, and she so young, that she could hardly remember it. If she strained her mind she could her, the cheerful calls, the voices in her ear, the warmth and the laughter. There was none of that now. Not even the softest of bird calls or cicadas in the night. All she had left was the ever present silence, where she could imagine echoes of long dead ghosts speaking her name.

            With a mournful sigh, she looked around her, at the dusty, blackened earth, at the broken wreckage of various buildings, at the decomposing bones that littered every street corner. The unforgiving ruins of a once beautiful place.

Its name must have mattered once too, she supposed. Once, she had read in the tattered pages of the old history books she managed to salvage about a time when people waged war over names and places.

            She wished for war now, if only as proof of another life beside her own. She would wade though a sea of blood and guts and bones, carry on hopeless battles, if only she wouldn’t alone.  

            On the horizon, another sandstorm approached, carrying a whirlwind of toxic gases.

            She was just so sick of being alone.

            If she strained her memory, she could remember the feeling of arms around her, of safety and comfort, of what she thought must’ve been a mother. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine it now.

            The sandstorm drew closer. In a few minutes, it would reach the nameless town she’d chosen to take refuge in. Her gas mask and armor would protect her from the worst of it, but she had no desire to see another piece of the old world destroyed before her eyes. 

            Tightening her grip on the rucksack that carried most of her belongings, she opened her eyes. With one last look around another place she might’ve called home once, she left.  

            In the end, it didn’t matter what her name was or where she was. It didn’t matter who she once was or who she was now. It didn’t even matter who she would be or where she would go.

            The only thing that mattered was that she would live on. 

Author's Note

Sometimes, all you can do is go on.

Reviews

[Justsimplyjulia]

thank you so much for submitting to my contest! I very much enjoyed this read!!!
unfortunately I can only have one winner so.....
thanks for entering!!!
Keep up the fabulous work!
-Dragon