Chapter 1

“In deep sadness there is no place for sentimentality.” - William S. Burroughs

 

Chapter 1

 

On August 20, 2065 I died in the eyes of the world. 

“Izelle,” father said. “Hand me that shovel.”

Father thought it best to tell our neighbors I passed away. The precaution would help protect me from being captured. He built a casket and put objects inside that simulated the weight of a ten year old child, then he dug a hole in our backyard and invited the neighbors for a brief funeral.

“She was a nice little girl,” a neighbor commented. “Always taking in stray animals. She adopted my cat when she believed he needed a home. I couldn’t figure out where he went off to or why he was getting fat. Then I came by and saw him in your window.” Everyone smiled at the memory.

All the men who attended were steeped in their own grief. The event was just another funeral in a dying world. While the charade unfolded, I stayed in the basement with the window open. I had to be careful to never be seen again. Every man was a potential enemy.

“At least now you don’t have to worry about anyone getting her,” someone said. Father nodded his head in agreement, then there was a long pause.

We lived in a farming community before the virus and all of the men wore the standard farming uniform, overalls. They were less clean and more patched post virus, but still worked. A man took a handkerchief out of the front pocket of his overalls and wiped his forehead.    

“It’s better to die than live in this world the way it is now” he said. “Shoot, I would kill myself if I had the courage.” An awkward silence followed the man’s statement. Most of those men had attended dozens of funerals, they were seasoned mourners. Couldn’t they think of more sentimental conversation?  

“I’ll shoot you Frank if you promise to leave everything you own to me” a man volunteered, then all of them laughed. I frowned, they were getting way off topic. The men should at least pretend to mourn. Two of them helped father lower the casket into the ground.

“Do you need any help with the burying?” a man asked.

“I’ll be alright,” father said. One of the neighbors handed father a plate of food and put his hand reassuringly on father’s shoulder. There was another moment of silence as they stood in a circle and looked at each other. Each man seemed to be sympathizing with father’s pain and remembering their own. Then all of them departed at the same time.

“Thank you for coming,” father said as they walked through the gate.   

I heard the sound of father shoveling dirt over the casket and cringed. The noise was a painful reminder that I was supposed to be dead. When he was finished I went outside to look at my headstone. I moved my fingers over the carved name and dates. In that quiet moment I mourned the life I might have had in a different time and place.

“She was a nice girl,” I said repeating the only comment made about me at my funeral. Father sat next to me on the ground.

“Would you rather be in the coffin?” he asked.

My sadness irritated father, it was one more thing he couldn’t fix. I could smell the alcohol on his breath all hours of the day and turned my head away. Father didn’t need a good reason to be in a bad mood. The virus destroyed his will to live along with every good quality he possessed. Father did his duty to preserve my life, but resented his existence as well as mine.

A few minutes later I went inside the house and looked out the window. A bird hopped to different trees exploring the territory, then took off into the sky. When I lost sight of the bird I closed the curtains and sat on the couch. Our home was my 1800 square foot universe and I was left to ponder a large span of time filled with nothing.

“Did you clean the fridge?” father asked. “How many times do I have to tell you to do something?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll do it now.” We were lucky to have a working fridge powered by solar panels in a rural area. I should have taken better care of it. Father was leaving the next day to find work and buy food. He would be gone for weeks, maybe months in the pursuit. After cleaning the fridge I watched him pack items into a bag.

“Where’s my coat?” he asked looking around. “Why is this house always such a mess?” He threw items from the couch to the floor in his attempt to find the coat.

“It’s in the dining room,” I said.

“Don’t just stand there,” he said. “Go get it.” I retrieved the coat and father snatched it out of my grip with shaky hands. Alcohol withdrawal made him especially moody. 

“There’s a gun in every room,” he said. “If a man comes into the house when I’m gone, kill him.” I knew where all the guns were and how to use them. I tried not to think or feel too much about the situation or I would fall apart. Father’s look softened when he saw the fear in my eyes.

“Bad things happen to girls in this world,” he said touching my cheek. “You need to be brave. Do whatever is necessary to save your life. No hesitating, just shoot.” What I had to do may have seemed harsh, but what happens in the midst of anarchy remains suspended in a moral void. There were no judges or juries to dictate the wrong or right of behavior. The only factor in my decision making was self-preservation. 

When father was done packing he went to a bar to drink with friends. He wouldn’t be back until after I went to bed, and he would be gone before I woke up.

I hated opening my eyes in the morning, the dreams always disappeared. The crawl space where I slept had no windows, so I couldn’t tell if the sun had risen. I felt my way to the entrance, opened the door a crack and light poured through. Before leaving I got on my knees.

“Please God, help me make it through another day. Help my Daddy be okay wherever he is. Help me be safe and don’t let any bad men find me. Amen.” I wasn’t a religious person, but wanted to call on every resource for protection.

The day was long, but I filled the time. There were always chores to do. I needed to clean clothing and dishes using the stream in our backyard. There were house repairs such as broken windows, fallen ceilings and water damage from rain.    

I played the piano, which was therapeutic. The noise made playing dangerous, but months could go by before anyone walked down our street. The benefits outweighed the risks in my mind although father would have disagreed. 

I spent half of every day reading. The world of books is a magical place where pirates find treasure and astronauts travel to different galaxies. Danger is exciting, love is transforming and life is a quest with a victorious end.

Time passed away in dreams, song and literature, which occupied my mind, but the emptiness never went away. I felt the ring on a chain around my neck as if it could give me strength. Before mother died, she took her wedding ring off and handed it to me.

“Izelle, there is a purpose for your life, a reason you’re still alive,” she said. “Don’t ever forget, your life is important.” I reached out to take the ring and she held my hand. Her touch felt weak. She was only a shadow of the woman she had once been. My emotions were too raw for words and I sat by her bed long after she closed her eyes.   

The days, weeks and months blurred together. Eventually time was measured only by seasons. The routine grew tiresome because I couldn’t live to exist. There had to be something meaningful. Something to live for or something to die for, something greater than myself.

 

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Reviews

[Kelsey Schadt]

Your first line captivates me and forms so many questions as the reader that makes me want to read on!
After reading your first chapter it is clear you have a great premise for writing, the age old question of why are we here in this world, what mark will we make appears to be a theme that will run through your piece. As a result, I predict your writing will interest a large number of readers. My favorite line in this chapter was, "but what happens in the midst of anarchy remains suspended in a moral void." It poses an interesting topic for discussion. If I had to give one suggestion, it would be to develop the setting a bit more. There are times when I was questioning the protagonists actions because I didn't have full understanding of the setting--for instance, if she is supposed to be dead, it doesn't seem smart for her to go out to examine her tombstone right after the funeral. I must admit, I didn't read the synopsis, so if setting is more developed there, I apologize.