August Burning (Book 1): Outbreak (18 page)

10,035 Days After Outbreak

“Did you
almost make it?”

The
spider-webs of wrinkles tickling the corners of the man’s eyes deepened.
 
He spat on the rough-hewn floor, as the
other recoiled at his lack of manners. The old man didn’t care. He raised faded
blue eyes to peer deep into the interviewer. “I think a more indicative
question is…did we want to make it, at that point?” His gravelly voice filled
the room.

“What do you
mean?”

The hazy blue
eyes narrowed even further, bristling.
 
The stooped figure drew up, and then the words tumbled out of him
musically, after he paused to enhance the effect.

“There was a time when I did not
mark the days at all, and they ran by, so many numberless dawns and nights. The
sun would rise, and then his sister the moon, but I never changed. My friends
were young, my lovers were young, and my parents were old. And it was sad to
see the old, but it was not a sadness that we carried. A fleeting reflection it
was, gone the moment the scenery changed. We always had second chances, and nothing
was forever. In the prime, it was our generation that decided what was right
and what was wrong, what was fashionable or not. We, the young, stood
haughtily, the fixed point at the center of a swirling existence, the old and
the even younger at the peripheries. The others, they strove to have their say,
but it was always us that led the way. I would later realize what an immense
but silent satisfaction it was possessing the unconscious knowledge knowing my
friends and acquaintances were all existing at the same time as me, following
their own paths. Though they might not have crossed unless I forced them to, it
was steeling to the heart to know at any moment I could reach out and find any
number of them, young and full of vitality like me. And time roared on like
this until it felt like it would forever. Until, piece-by-piece, everything
changed. I watched the world we all built become bitter and stale, break down
and collapse in on it, only to be replaced by another more young and vigorous
one. But this time, we shared no part in it. And at first, this was an insult
to the very fibers of our being, it was unjust, it was impossible. But we
slowly realized this was how it had always been, and would always be. All the
things that once drove us to mad passion and sweet sorrow, no one seemed to
care about anymore. They regarded the things that had driven us mad with
passion, fear, joy, and rage with a simple, casual ambivalence. They simply
didn’t care. The road grew lonelier as those we once regarded as “the old”
died, and the culture that once beat with vitality around our beings abandoned
us. As a boy, life was framed by all the things we would once be able to do.
And then, it became all the things we could now do. Then there was the agony of
having those abilities taken away piecemeal, slowly. All we began to have left
was each other, dying reminders of our own faded glory. Life became a journey
steeped in sickening nostalgia. And it has been my fate to be the very last.
Until we sit here now, and at night I am overwhelmed by a simple consideration.
It is when I realize that all my idols, my friends, my lovers, my family…have
withered away slowly and left this place. Every soul and body that once burned
with emotion and the vivacity of life was forced to watch that power slip from
them, piece by piece. Every worthy enemy, every friend you could count on,
every wondrous woman. That strength I once had, from knowing my friends were
all across the world, doing great things, or doing nothing much at all, disappeared
when I realized they had all gone. All those I once shared dreams, fears, and
visions with have left. How could it have happened to them all? Every last one?
Youth, I realized, was the most intoxicating, enthralling pull of all. And by
its nature, you only understand its power as it slips away.” He cocked a bushy
white eyebrow, waiting patiently with a grin across his lips.

“Jesus. Slow down- uhh can I
quote you on some of that?”

A cackling filled with raw
contempt echoed in the little room. “Fuck yourself.”

The younger man recoiled, as if
stung. His mouth was agape as the clattering keyboard ceased.

“Anyways, that’s what my poetic
mind conjures up when I imagine old age. My friends never got to watch their
strength slip away, boy. They never got that far in the journey. I’ve done it
all alone.”

The younger man struggled to
regain his composure, peering down at his little white screen. Then he raised
his eyes and assumed a somber gaze. “How many did you start with, then?”

“At the height, we had almost
four hundred souls.” His thin lips resumed their perpetual grimace.

“And at the
final hour?””

His lip
twitched.
“There were three.
”

Continue the
journey in… AUGUST BURNING: Survival (Book 2)…coming soon