Forsaken Dreams

The world around me falls back into focus as I stand up, placing a hand over my eyes to block the sun so that I can take in my surroundings. I notice a lovely white house across the street. Most likely abandoned. As my eyes sweep over the beautiful estate, I think to myself… How could I not have noticed it last night? Yes. It was dark. Yes. My mind was elsewhere. Yes. I was exhausted. So I should give myself some credit, but still. This house was so exquisite, so different, I’m surprised I didn’t notice it until now. I should have.

There was a white picket fence still surrounding the home. Not broken or peeling paint as other fences should be. There was blue shutters, a lot of windows, and really big. I wished I grew up in a house like that. I also noticed the yard. Oh how I could see my eight year old self running through that yard, falling, causing my knee to bleed, but not caring and getting right back up. I would probably swing on that tire too, that hung on a tree beside the house. The only thing this house was missing was its owners. A family.

I couldn’t help but think that maybe I could be that houses owner. But no, it felt wrong. It would be like stealing and I didn’t want to do that. But I could go investigate, go inside the house. Right? No laws against that, considering there are no more laws and no one to enforce them anymore.

Once in the house I explore, downstairs is taken up with one immense room that serves as the kitchen, dining and living area. A large wood-stove sits in the middle of the room and taking up most of one wall is a cooking fireplace that is almost big enough for me to stand up in. There is a dining room with a long table bounded by benches—enough seating to feed a large family and plenty of neighbours.

In the back of the house, tucked away behind the stairs, is a tidy room filled with food. Stacked three or four deep along wide shelves are jars and jars of preserved fruits and vegetables. Dried herbs and meat hang from the ceiling, and large barrels with flour and meal line the walls. This pantry has enough food to keep the me alive for four years, it seems. It is more food than I have ever seen and I wonder why whoever lived here before did this.

Just outside the small pantry door is a tiny courtyard enclosed by a thick brick wall. A few pots ring the perimeter, ready for planting. In the middle is a pump that brings fresh water to the house and garden. It's apparent that the original owners of this house were expecting this, were expecting the inevitable breach that would leave them stranded. An island in the sea of Zombies. They knew this would happen and apparently closer to the government than anyone else.

Upstairs are four rooms: three bedrooms and the nursery. This grand house has a ladder bolted into the wall at the end of the hallway upstairs. I climb it and push against a trapdoor that leads into a large space that spans the length of the house. Up here there is more food lining the walls and weapons amassed in neat piles. There are trunks stacked at one end that I don't bother to explore.

At the other end of the room is a small white door. I flip the latch and struggle against it and finally it shudders, the vibrations moving up my arms as it jolts open. Outside is a small porch with thick railings on the left and right and nothing across the front. As I step into the bright sunlight I caress the threshold to the right of the doorway.

I wonder what could be out there, and again, I think about JJ. Wherever he is, could he be doing the same and thinking about me? Could he be wishing to be with me. But most of all could he still love me? All the time that has passed. All that has happened, could he?

I look down at my rough once soft hands, and realize I’ve been clutching the railing to hard. They’re numb and the cuts on my hands start bleeding. I feel ashamed and hide them by hugging myself. I start rocking back and forth and whimper. Letting my tears out feels good sometimes. I don’t know why, but it feels like I’m releasing a burden, a problem every time I do so.

It took me a moment, but when I back up. I could feel….joy and happiness. The sun is shining so bright. I could feel its warmth caressing my whole face and neck. My hands go up indistinctively, they stretch out for the sun, reaching, wanting.

My head goes back, letting the sun engulf me. My eyelids closed shut. I was wrong before. There is still good out there. The sun is good. The sun is still here. The sun hasn’t given up on me. Hasn’t left me. Yet. But it’ll come up again. It always comes back up, always comes back to me. And for that, I love the sun.

“You are beautiful sun! So beautiful.” I say. “There is still beauty out there. So much beauty”

“What are you doing?”

I look up like I’ve been caught naked. My hands instantly go down. My face beaming red. I feel so embarrassed.

“I-I… I’m sorry.” Did I just say that? I have absolutely nothing to be sorry for, yet I apologize to a perfect stranger. My brain was so busy chastising me, that it didn’t sink in the fact that there was a person alive, standing right by the small door. I could be dreaming, I thought. But that’s not true. I know it. It had to be.

I studied his face. He was older than me, but not by much. Maybe twenty. He was good-looking. He was wearing a gray jacket, a pair of jeans that was just the right shade of dark, perfectly scuffed sneakers. But there was something about him.

What was it then?

“Who are you?” I say finally composing myself.

“I should ask you that. This is my house.”

Oh. That it explains the mass of food and weapons. I should have known. “I’m so stupid.” I hadn’t realized I said the last bit of my thought out loud. Because next thing I know, he’s agreeing with me.

“Yeah. You are.”

What? I couldn’t believe this. Why couldn’t we just talk. It was so long since I have. My voice cracked here and then. My voice so raspy. What nerve this guy has. Now I know what he was.

He was so . . . confident. That was the big problem. Here, in his place, where I had no right to be, yet he was so goddamned sure of himself. He probably had no sense of humour, least of all about himself. Now that I think about it, I cant wait to get out of here.

“You are so rude!” I half yell at him. I didn’t want the zombies below on the road to sense me.

“Yeah? So, what are you gonna do about it?”

I feel a sudden hatred of this man. Why is he like this? Now in his face, in his eyes, I saw none of the tenderness or the possibilities I saw before when no one was Returned.

“I hate you,” I said, amazed as the babyish words emerged from my own mouth.

He steps aside from the small door, giving me the signal that it was time to leave. “I hate you, too.”

I watched his face until I got the nerve to finally move. Getting up, I slip back inside the attic, my palm brushing against the smooth wall by the door. Habits die hard and absence doesn't stop my fingers from searching.