It'S A Wonderful Life It's a Wonderful Life By: Jennifer Haynes Aaron shuffled aimlessly down the demolished street, wondering what he was going to do. He kicked a large rock. Everything was destroyed, the animals were too poisoned to eat, and people were beginning to die left and right again. He looked up from the street to take in his surroundings. A rat limped on three legs across the sidewalk, its third eye rolled endlessly in its sockey, and Aaron saw cataracts over all of them. It ran into something. It was a man's foor. The man was extremely overweight and sitting with his back against a half-destroyed wood building. He had one of the blackened planks in his hand and tried to hit the rat, but missed. "Get back here you damn rodent!" The man's speech was low and slurred. Aaron saw an empty bottle of vodka and another full one sitting next to the man. He hadn't had anything to drink in two days. "Come back, I'm hungry!" the man shouted. He slammed his fist on the ground in frustration, but he also hit the empty bottle and broke it open, cutting his hand. He began to bellow in pain. Aaron seized the moment ran over to get the full bottle of vodka. Just before he turned around to run off, a large hand squeezed his wrist and a red liquid oozed down his hand. It was blood. The man had stopped complaining about his hand which had a tight grip on Aaron. He noticed flies in the man's hair and black beard, and and Aaron's nostrils were invaded with such an immense stench that he thought he was going to be sick. "Give me back my bottle," the man said. "I need a drink," Aaron said. "Damn it you little bastard, give me back my drink!" Aaron could see in the man's eyes that his anger was about to peak. Almost done. "No." The man turned his head up to the sky and howled with rage, tightening his grip on Aaron's wrist, and he heard a sickening crack as one of his bone's broke. And then, it was over. The man's hand dropped to his side and Aaron was free to leave. He was frightened because his plan almost hadn't worked, but he had been very lucky. He looked at his already swollen wrist, and wondered what he was going to do. When he tried to move his hand, he bit his tongue to keep from screaming. He was just going to have to suffer, but he was used to it. He took a drink of the vodka. The liquid felt good in his throat, and even helped dull the throbbing of his wrist. He had survived for fifteen years, and now supplies were running out. He thought the end was near. As he walked forn the street he began going back in time to fifteen years ago. He had been ten years old. Every night his parents would turn on the news, he would see huge mushroom clouds on every station. And each day they got closer and closer, but his parents always decided to stay put. Then, while he was at school, alarms sounded and all the children had to get under their desks. He heard rumbles and felt the ground shake as the bombs fell. He heard kids screaming and the teacher crying. He felt hopeless, for if the teacher was crying, the leader, the adult of the group, than it probably was hopeless. Most of the kids survived that day, but soon after, they died quickly of radiation. He had hidden in a cellar for a long time, to avoid the screaming children. Somehow, he had lived through those long years. Here he was now, with vodka in his hand and hunger gnawing at his belly. He hadn't eaten in a week. He could almost feel the cold hand of death brush across his face. He took another drink and went back again. He hadn't understood much about the war then. But even his ten-year-old mind had understood that the word death had been stamped in bold letters across his forehead, across everyone's for that matter, and some time or another, this war was going to be the cause of his. He would never die of natural causes. He remembered that every night his mother would hold him without saying a word, and just rock him back and forth, and her worry and sadness were almost palpable. What he wouldn't give to be embraced again. Then there was his father. He was determined to stay. Aaron also remembered that when he went to bed he could hear his parents arguing. His mother always wanted to leave, his father always said that they should stay. He said that it would do no good to leave because every spot on the planet would be nuked, and "we'd be just as dead there as we would be here. Why not die in familiar surroundings?" He also said that it would be better to be here in case they did survive. That way they'd know where they were. Aaron looked around. He didn't recognize the place at all. It was nothing but a tomb; the whole world was a tomb. Even those who had been able to fight off the radiation because of some mysterious reason would be dying now. He just didn't want to be the last one to die. He was jerked out of thought as he felt a callused hand run across his arm. He looked down to see a lady crawling on the ground. A lot of her hair was missing, but she still had her teeth which was a rarity; Aaron had had to pull most of his out because they had been causing him much agony. Her face was somewhat withered, but if you took off all the dirt, Aaron thought, she'd look pretty young. "Come with me," she whispered. "Come into my alley. I know you want to. It's been a long time hasn't it?" He felt her hand moving down his arm. Aaron was frozen for a minute. He couldn't decide what to do. The urge to go with the lady was so strong, he didn't think he could fight it. "Come on," she urged. She looked up at him seductively as she began to rub his leg. "Come into my alley." Aaron was torn between living and dying. If he went with the woman, he would certainly die. After it was all said and done with, as he was lying in bed resting most likely, she'd kill him, and then he'd be her supper. Or he could struggle to live for another day, or week, or month...however much time was left. He could be eaten and die in ecstasy, or he could be in pain and die in even more pain. He decided. "Go away. How can you still think of such things?" He shook her hand off his leg and walked on. He didn't want to suffer, but he couldn't stand the image of cannibalism. He could have eaten that man who had broken his wrist, but he wasn't able to. He would just as soon die as eat another of his own kind. He also feared death. With the woman, he would certainly die, and out here he would certainly die but it was unknown when or how. He preferred not knowing. Aaron took yet another drink, and noticed that things were getting kind of fuzzy. He couldn't drink anymore or he'd be too drunk to walk straight. At least right now he could conquer that feat. Aaron began thinking of the aftermath of the war. To most he had appeared a frightened, lost ten-year-old running through the streets. But inside he had aged ten years. He was taking in the information he was hearing and putting it away for future reference, not that it would change anything. He also realized that he would most likely never see his parents again. He didn't cry. He was sad, but even when he tried to cry, just so he'd feel normal, he couldn't. He couldn't help feeling that he was just as lifeless as the bombs that had fallen, and that he would soon be as destructive as they were also, not caring what he did or who he harmed, just doing his job, surviving. He had dreaded it then, and couldn't tell the difference now. People said they had seen it coming. They knew that when Russia came into the war and declared it WW3 that all hope was gone. Deadly viruses were being smuggled around, and the people also said that if the bombs hadn't hit first, that a deadly epidemic would have, and they'd all be dead anyway. Hope was dead. This was the end of the world, and he, Aaron, had been fortunate enough to se it. He felt so special. Aaron looked at the half empty bottle of vodka. If he drank anymore, he'd be gone for sure, but what else was there to do. Maybe he'd go take that lady up on her offer. The longer he thought about it, the more appealing it sounded. He was sure she'd be just as happy to see him now as she had been earlier. Suddenly, Aaron cried out in pain and agony as he bumped his wrist on a piece of wood that had been jutting out of a building. Tears welled up in his eyes and he started crying. The pain coursed up his arm and began to run through his whole body. His hand was throbbing, his body was aching, and he was one of the few human's left on earth. What was the point of staying? He took the bottle of vodka and drank all of the rest at once, trying desperately to rid himself of the pain. It succeeded somewhat, and he was able to stop crying, but the throbbing was still there. Everything became distorted and fuzzy till he didn't even recognize the dreary gray sky. He stumbled and fell on the ground. The appearance of everything changed. Suddenly he was ten again, only instead of running like he wanted to, he was lying on the ground. He stood up and began running, falling several times. He didn't know his destination but he wanted to get away from all the people who were talking about death and bombs and wars., He just wanted to be somewhere peaceful. The steets were charred messes and offered no comfort. There wasn't a tree to sit under, or a nice quiet spot because all the quiet spots were completely silent...deathly silent. It made him nervous. He ran and ran, and he didn't even know how far away he was. He just wanted to leave everything behind him and find that little paradise that he knew was waiting just up the road. It was there, but he just hadn't reached it yet. Suddenly he saw it. It was close, almost within arm's reach. Once he was inside he would be safe forever, sheltered from the world, away from the sights and smells of death and worry. Inside he would find his parents, and everyone else he knew, because they all had known this place to exist. He closed his eyes and leaped out, ready to hit the sand on the sunny spot in the darkness, but he didn't land. He opened his eyes. He wasn't ten anymore. He was twenty-five again, and he was falling. He didn't know how far he had ran, but he ahd just jumped over a cliff. He didn't care; it was time to die. He had waited a long time. His wrist hit the side of a rock, but he felt no pain. His head smashed a rock and he was gone. It was like a dream come true.
Copyright © 1998 Jennifer M Haynes |