As Far As My Eyes Can See

It didn’t happen all at once. It never does, does it? There are always signs. Red flags that go ignored for years, until it’s finally too late. Until the horror that you’ve watched behind your phone screen, from the comfort of your living room, is suddenly right outside your door, begging to be let in. And you have to decide how far you’re willing to go to help save humanity.

And most of the time, most of the time, no one is willing to go very far at all.

April 31st, 2040

I found this journal sitting in a pile of rubble. It was open, pages flapping in the wind, and pretty clean, all things considered. Dirty, scuffed, and a little singed at the edges, but that’s all. It’s amazing sometimes what survives in an explosion. I mean, how is it that this tiny journal was almost completely unscathed but entire foundations of homes and buildings, are simply blown to smithereens? But there it was. Tiny and yellow and lying open, like it was waiting for me.

May 1st, 2040

It’s only been a few days since the giant explosion, but it’s almost as if it happened decades ago. How is it that a whole city used to be here? The streets that I walk used to be filled with buildings so tall you could barely see the tops; restaurants and all kinds of shops; streets full of people walking and running. I remember when I first moved here being overwhelmed with it all. I grew up in a very small town, in the middle of nowhere, where I could stand at the edge of town and look out over a vast nothingness. Just green fields as far as my eye could see. And then, as soon as I could, I moved here. To this bustling city where when I looked out the window of my apartment on the 6th floor, there was nothing but buildings- as far as my eye could see. And I loved the energy. The movement and nonstop of it all. The not being able to walk down the street without literally brushing shoulders with another human being.

I was able to rebuild myself in this city. To go from someone who felt like they had seen nothing of the world, to living in a place where I was able to meet people from all over the world, hear a multitude of languages walking down a single block, taste food so delicious and spicy it made my eyes water, experience so many things I never thought possible.

Even though it’s only been a few days, my memories of what used to be here are already fading. It’s hard to imagine anything other than piles of rocks and glass, and the smell of dust and death.

I won’t go into too much detail about that last part.

I can’t.

May 2nd, 2040

It’s almost annoying to reflect. Because what’s the point? What will I gain by remembering? By getting upset over all the things we didn’t do; that I didn’t do? But it’s inevitable. We could have protested harder. We could have organized better, more diligently. Hell, we should have stormed the capitols and demanded that the insane psychopaths running our countries be taken out of office. We should have demanded it. I mean, in so many countries, there were “more of us than there were of them,” you know? But, in every single case, “they” were the ones with the power, “they” were the ones with the resources, “they” were the ones who made decisions regardless of what we wanted. It happened, right? It happened. It’s all over, so there’s no point in doing this. But damn. There really was so much more that we could have done.

That I could have done.

May 3rd, 2040

There is nothing to do but reflect. Think back. Go over every single thing that I could have done differently. I don’t want to. There’s no point. But there’s literally nothing else to do.

It was 10pm on April 25th, 2040. By then there was a curfew of 9pm. 11pm on the weekends. If that wasn’t the biggest red flag, right? Anyway. It was 10pm. I was inside, scrolling on my phone, texting back and forth with friends. We were all venting about the state of the world. The insanity that had befallen us. At this point, the country had pretty much rounded up all the people who weren’t born here, or who had parents who weren’t born here. Those people were either in the camps or in hiding. It made me sick to my stomach to think about, but what could I do about it? So, I sat there. Scrolling and venting with friends who were also scrolling. Every once in a while I would look out my window at the city lights that I still found so beautiful. So comforting. And then there was a knock at my door. So soft, I almost thought that I imagined it. When I opened it there was my neighbor, standing there with wide eyes.

“Hey Greg,” I said, “What’s up?”

“I need you to hide him,” he whispered, looking around to see who might be listening.

“Uh, what?” I asked, “Hide who?”

He beckoned me to follow him to his apartment. I could feel a growing dread in my belly. “Hide him,” did not sound like anything that could be good in any way whatsoever.

We walk into his apartment, and he leads me to his bedroom, where he opens his large closet door and there, at the back of the closet, hiding behind clothes and a small dresser, is a small child.

“This is Jorge,” Greg tells me, “He’s 5 and I can’t hide him anymore. They’re onto me. Please,” he whispers, “Please hide him.”

I stare at the child who looks up at me with big, round eyes, his thumb in his mouth. He looks awfully calm and I wonder fleetingly if that’s just a coping mechanism. I mean, what is he going to do? Freak out? He must have some idea that the only thing to do is sit there and suck his thumb.

I stare at this child, already knowing that my answer is going to be no. If they’re onto Greg, won’t they just look next door? Won’t I be getting a visit anyway with questions about Greg, how much I know about him, how close we are? I begin to silently thank my lucky stars that I know very little about Greg. That I don’t have to lie that much.

“I can’t,” I whisper, not looking at Greg or Jorge.

“Please,” Greg says and starts to plead some more.

“I can’t,” I insist, a little more forcefully than I intend, “Where do you think they’re going to look when they don’t find him here? It’s not a good idea, Greg. You should find someone else,” I say and turn to go, before Greg can say anything else.

I can hear him bend down to Jorge. I can hear him whispering to the child that it’s going to be ok. I can hear the child softly crying for his mother and I ignore the voice in my head that says I’m a coward. And it’s easy to do, because the other voice, the louder voice, tells me that I’m right. That taking the child would have been bad news for both of us. That we would have been found and ended up in a camp anyway. It’s surprisingly easy to convince myself that I did the right thing.

May 3rd, 2040

When the explosion happened, I was in a Starbucks bathroom, kept alive by the heavy metal door. I don’t know how long I was passed out for, but when I woke up, as far as I could tell, I was the only one in the vicinity who had survived. Just like you, little notebook.

I know it hasn’t been that long since the end of the world. I’m pretty sure that there is no way that I can be the only one, right? The only one to have survived? How could that be? How could that possibly be?

May 4th, 20240

Still no sign of anyone.

Not another living soul.

Not even the sound of birds.

It is so, deathly, quiet.

You know that Twilight Zone episode where the man who just wants to read finally gets what he wants because the world ends, but then his glasses break and he can’t read anymore? When I first watched it, I remember feeling so bad for the guy. All he wants to do is read! But then I watched it again, showing it to a friend, and I remember thinking that actually, the guy doesn’t deserve any pity. He had turned his back on the world before it ever even ended. Loving literature is one thing, but abandoning humanity is another.

I wonder if that’s sort of my penance. I never wanted to be alone. I moved to the city because I loved being around people.

And now, now there’s nothing.

Just remnants of what used to be, as far as my eye can see.