A Spark of Hope

Ten winters have passed since the first Lights. The boy and I have always traveled on our own, and we steer clear of others. We scavenge the ravaged cities for any food and precious items we can find. We stay off the roads as much as we can. When night comes, we hide away in woods, or inside abandoned buildings. When we’re resting, I read to him. I describe what I remember of the world I knew before the Lights.
Sometimes he asks me why I saved him. He asks why I took him in and why I help him. Truth is, I don’t really know. I guess I just saw something in him. Every time I look at him, I see that vague, obscure symbol of hope. He’s not like the others I’ve seen from a distance. He sees nothing in a world of much less, and yet he’s always trying to cheer me up and brighten the mood somehow. Sometimes I find myself pitying him, but then I realize that maybe he’s the one that pities me.
I remember how worried I was at first about having him with me. I thought having a blind boy with me would do nothing but complicate things. It wasn’t long before I realized how wrong I was. Although he lacks sight, his other senses more than make up for it, which can only help. I’ve also never seen him fight, and I don’t think he could fight well, but nonetheless, his presence is enough to startle away some of the lesser bandits that might be scouring the wasteland around us. After all, as I learned quickly, this isn’t exactly the ideal world for a sixteen year old girl to be wandering around alone in.
I still have nightmares every night. Sometimes they’re of him dying, sometimes they’re of me dying. Sometimes they’re of the Lights. Sometimes, they’re of my mother and her dying words to me. I still remember them to this day, and take them to heart.
Let hope guide you.