Guilt

"Guilt is perhaps the most painful companion of death.� -Coco Chanel

            The cathedral walls creaked and moaned in a cry of pain. It was just another ruin, much like the rest of the town, but the walls still stood, which gave the people some hope of shelter. Some even figured that god would still save them. Just mortal desperation if you ask me. Others had come along beating continuously on the thick wooden doors, but their pleas were left unanswered. There was no room left. Not enough food for the few we had already taken in. Eventually the thumping would stop. Each resident held a similar feeling about the following silence— a deep sickening feeling in their chest.

            Despite the many fires spread around the town, the wind still howled menacingly against the stone and brick. It was cold and there was little heat. The many blankets and beds made from carpet and cloth were illuminated dimly by an assortment of candles distributed to groups of survivors. That was me. A survivor.

            It’s strange to think about, and it only grows stranger the more I go over it in my mind. I had survived something. Survived. The word alone seemed unfamiliar. My ordinary life had little surviving to be done. My daily routine had once composed of chopping wood and tending to the crops on Mr. Early’s farm. The open pasture and fresh, green, well fertilized grass was the only thing I knew. He was a nice man and he paid well, but the work was tedious and often boring. He had a daughter. Ellie. Ellie Early. She would always smile at me when I waved to her, but she seemed so distant. She was kind, but her affection for me was more out of pity and friendship than what I felt for her. She would never hear the words I longed to ask her for the past six years of my life. She and her father were long gone by now.

            Mr. Early had allowed me every Sunday as a break from arduous work to pray at the cathedral. I had given up praying now. Two days without an answer. I don’t wait for God anymore.

The air was polluted with the smoke trapped from the outside and it reeked of scorched flesh. The man beside me had a cross clutched tightly between both of his hands. He mumbled a prayer. His words collided as he struggled to tell his God all he could before these walls failed to protect us. The man who was once the priest here was shouting a sermon to anyone who would listen. The holy words echoed harmoniously throughout the crumbling building. He had said the same words disguised with different letters for over a day now. “God does this for a reason. He would not let the righteous die so senselessly.” It sounded like he was attempting to reassure himself more than his audience. An infant began to cry somewhere nearby, but it was quickly hushed by the gentle touch of it’s mother who sung a lullaby. At least the child would die asleep. I thought to myself. The woman had a beautiful voice. Each note flowed into the next with elegance. It was almost enough to make me comfortable again. To take me home. Almost.

            The rest of the survivors more than likely clung to the same thoughts. The cathedral had gone quiet as the woman began her song. Even the priest had allowed the woman to interrupt his speech.

            The song ended and I anticipated applause, but it didn’t come. On the last note, the silence only persisted.

            My hands were raw and thin. They felt frail and weak. This is a feeble shadow of a man. Huddled in the darkness held in place by a god that had yet to rescue us. Pathetic.

            Most of the people here are thankful to still have their lives. I’m not sure if I really wanted to keep mine. Getting out of this with all of my pieces still attached doesn’t seem very likely, so those who died were almost lucky. Survival only prolongs the suffering. Although this I strongly believe, I can’t bring myself to cope with the idea of life meaning nothing. Like any other man, I cling to this world with all my might even with the realization that I would be better off letting go. After all of this, I can shed my pride, dignity, and standards, but I can’t release my mortality.

            Sergeant Kane patrolled the men and women with unblinking eyes. I don’t think he has slept since this all began. His hand kept twitching instinctively to the pistol strapped to his waist. His clothes were wet with sweat. His eyes shone with a strange mixture of emotions that I had never seen before. They were unnaturally bright and empty, but at the same time compassionate and genuinely concerned for everyone in this hellhole. But his actions were more apologetic. He had an aroma of remorse that seemed to linger around him wherever he stood.

            He had a wife and little girl at the edge of town. Molly and Susie were their names… I think. This building is probably the only safe place still standing in the town. They weren’t inside.

            My bodily systems had become like a clock to me. I had trained myself within over sixty hours to eat and sleep only when possible. Now it was getting late. Six o` clock at least. It was time to eat.

            I lifted my meager body to a standing position and began my journey to the other side of the room where dinner was being rationed. Standing behind an elderly man who smelled of dried sweat, the line slowly shortened until I lead up front. A patronly young blonde woman with a broad smile handed me an end slice of a bread loaf. This could have come from the Early farm, I thought. This could be a remnant of my shattered reality.

            As a staggered away from the line, the woman called to the others that there was no food left. The complaints spread like a disease. They were to weak to do anything serious, but the disturbance still had to be silenced. General Sinclair shouted to the line that there was nothing that could be done and that this will only waste well needed energy.

            The feeling of being the last to get food made me feel lucky. There would be no more after this piece of refined grain between my fingers, but I had the last piece!

            A pathetic whimper broke my mood. It came from the mouth of a child beside me. Her face was scratched and her clothes torn. She was covered in filth and was alone. Nobody to comfort her. The others were obviously consumed in the same way I had been moments before. They paid the child no attention and shuffled by her one by one with out even a glance.

            I approached the child, but she didn’t seem aware of my presence. She had placed her head between her knees. Tears stained her skin as they washed away the dirt on her legs. Kneeling beside her, I could hear her breath. She struggled with each inhale. Childhood had been brusquely swept from this girl. She had no parents with her, no brothers or sisters, no anything.

            I placed my cold hand under her chin and lifted her head to face mine. Her expression was blank and gone. Erased from existence. I held out my bread in offering. She let out a small smile, but it didn’t last. The light in her eyes faded and then were hidden behind her closed eyelids. Her head once again fell between her knees. I lifted her back up but she only fell limp again. She was gone.

            Guilt overwhelmed my senses and suddenly the bread was less appetizing. I turned from the girl and came back to where the others had stood for food. The smiling lady was still there. I gave her my bread.

 

           

            My dreams were continuously interrupted all throughout the night. The sounds of the world outside this cathedral penetrated the walls quite clearly. Accepting that my rest for the moment had ended, I left to reignite the flame of our group’s candle in the main fire kept in the center of the room. I was heartbroken by the words spoken by some in their dreams, “Just left them there… Right in front of her eyes… Was going to propose to her… Forced him to do it…”

            The worst came from Sergeant Kane, “Molly… Susie… Birthday present… Four years…” As I came back from the fire, candle lit and held close to my body, my heart pounded against the cage of my chest as the shadow of a man impeded my path.

            “Sergeant Kane?” I asked into the darkness.

            There was no answer, but I came closer to the shadowy figure and confirmed my suspicions. “I’m sorry. I must have woken you.”

            He shook his head, “It was a dream… a nightmare…” His head was tilted down at the floor. Concentrating on a single piece of dirt that had been dragged in by someone’s shoes.

            “I could hear you.” There was a short pause as I waited for a response. It didn’t come. I continued, “It must have been terrible.”

            “She would have turned four an hour ago.” He said. “She looked so much like Molly. They had the same eyes… They had the same smile.” His expression was heavy and weak. He looked like a small child lost in the woods at night. Lost and alone.

            “I’m sure they’re all right,” I said, but my words were empty. I knew it and so did he. If they weren’t here, they either had a gun in their hand or were dead. “A lot of people left the town just before it happened.”

            “I told her I would be back. I kissed her goodbye, but I didn’t know it would be goodbye,” He paused. “I told her I would be back.”

            I had no idea what words I would force out of my mouth next. With every sentence he spoke, another part of him left and never returned. At the time, I thought it was loss. Working as a poison. Slowly ripping him apart from the inside. It wasn’t until the sun had risen again that I learned what he was really feeling. Guilt.

            There had been many people who had come beating on the cathedral doors in hopes of finding safety within. Stained with an unbalanced concoction of blood and dirt and rain. Anything left was made from tears. Sergeant Kane and General Sinclair had to personally send them away telling them that there was no room or supplies left to house them, but this is a task that requires temporarily erasing one’s heart and being careful not to leave any pity behind.

            The other night, through the storm, a visitor attempted what many before had done. They pounded as hard as they could on the door. It was answered first by Sergeant Kane, but he froze on the spot. General Sinclair asked what was wrong, but Kane didn’t respond. Sinclair peered out the hole in the door and saw it. A skinny woman with long hair that was graying at the base of her scalp. Her eyes were soft and bright blue. Her face was covered in a thin layer of mud and grime. Her hand clutched that of a young girl’s tightly. The girl’s head only escalated to the waist of the woman, but the features of the older one were prominent in the little one. She was her daughter.

            They both held the same look. The weary scars that had become all too common. They had seen too much death for their age. Too much blood. This was not the world to raise a child.

Sinclair found it nearly impossible to complete his job. He had to act heartless. He had to pretend that he didn’t care. He shook with each word, but he forced the line he had to say. “I’m sorry, but a few more days of life for anyone new we allow in here could mean that nobody here lives this through,” He stopped. It was hard to send anyone from this doorstep. To do so meant sending them to their deaths, but it had to be done.

            Sergeant Kane saw the hesitation in Sinclair. He had to do it. he had to kill them. “Please, Molly,” he said. “You have to leave.”

 

            Parents shielded the eyes of their children when the sun rose. The shadow of the events from the night before hovered over the heads of them all. Sergeant Kane was just hanging there. A rope was connected from the chandelier to his frail neck.

            The rest of the soldiers removed the body before it caused too much of a disturbance, but the image was stuck in my mind. How he seemed so calm and without emotion as he hung. He had left this god forsaken town. It was a dream… a nightmare… he had said. At least he could be with his family. At least maybe he was happy now.

            There wasn’t a funeral. Nobody would have come anyways. They were preoccupied by the new supply of food. Meat. “From birds at the top of the bell tower,” they said. We all know where it really came from. I refused to eat.