"A New One" By Ben Brown

"Walk" by Lisa Rae Winat
Image used by permission of the Artist
12 x 24 / oil on panel

Even after the land was blasted bare, some survived. I remember, before, when we used to build great structures to house them, like temples. Now they are crypts, dusty and desolate, though they have always been quiet.

My task is to find them, wander from here to there, looking for more, so that we can remember the time before the land was blighted, and learn from them if we start to rebuild.

The harsh sun beats down on the dry ground and me, the solitary shape making my way across the wastes. The pack on my back is large and awkward. The straps weigh down into my worn shirt and shoulders. I need to find shelter by nightfall; the freaks come out after dark.

I see the outlines of a couple of buildings in the distance, distorted in the heat. As I get closer the sun falls in the sky behind me. I turn to look, and see lights dotting the hills far off; they are waking up.

There are only two walls of a home and a school left standing when I arrive. I haven’t seen a seen a healthy person in 7 months. I’ll try my luck in the school house though; maybe I’ll find a new one.

The door to the school opens with a groan. A short hall with several doors on either side stretches into darkness. The hall is littered with knocked over lockers and rubble from a hole in the roof. I carefully open the first door on my right. The door pushes rubble, scraping the floor. I listen very carefully for any movement--nothing.

A shaft of scarlet light from the sunset stretches across the floor, which is covered with dust and a few scattered bones. I slide the pack off my tired shoulders and let out a deep breath. The pack hits the floor with a dull thud. I put my bed roll in the corner of the room next to the door, so I can watch it from a safe angle.

I should start looking before it gets dark. As I walk past the window I see the lights that were on the hills, moving across the expanse in many directions, hopefully not here. Luckily they usually avoid the structures, most of them are too dull to operate a door, and there isn’t anything in here for them.

I flip open the old desks to see what's inside. A few pencils, pens, a figure made of pipe cleaners, but not what I seek. I open the last desk. This is it! A new one, a dusty rectangle set in the corner of the desk. I brush the grime off the front. “Goodnight Moon” reads the title in yellowing ink. I clean it off, flip through the pages, and place it in my pack with the rest. A good find is always nice.