The Hour of None The heat had gotten nearly unbearable. The old man untied his flask from his torn pants and unscrewed the lid. He thought briefly about letting the water wash over his face, pouring it all over his body and basking in momentary coolness, but rationality prevailed and he merely took a sip, screwed the top back on, and re-attached it to his belt.
The days had become so hot.
His feet scraped across the hard rock beneath him, eyes overlooking what used to be a great city. Which one he didn't know, he no longer knew where he was, or where he was going. He coughed hard onto his sleeved arm, and then used it to wipe the perspiration from his face; he could feel the wrinkles in his skin. It had been a long time.
In front of him he observed the great wasteland that stretched between him and the city. So much hopelessness, thought the old man, like a living metaphor for the future.
Stop it.
No time for those thoughts. Just keep walking. Keep going until you get somewhere.
While he walked he watched the city, it was the only thing worth looking at out here. Its crumbling buildings and shattered society represented the most hope he'd had in a long time. Maybe someone would be there; maybe there would be bottles of water or something to eat. As he walked he gazed at it, and his thoughts became infected by doubt.
Nothing out there. Too still.
It didn't harbor the promising stillness of men and women in hiding. It was instead the stillness of the dead and the absent, a kingdom abandoned for it was not worth ruling. It was the unmoving agony of the end. He stopped and stood there for a little while, half because his feet were sore and half because he wasn't sure he wanted to keep going. It was a long way, and he was so tired.
Continue.
He took a deep breath, a habit of days long past. It used to calm him down, help clear his head. Today it only reminded him of the dryness in his throat, that he might die soon.
The world had changed.
He carefully began walking towards the city, mindful of the slight limp in his right foot, and the pain shooting up and down his legs. A dry cough escaped his throat as he stumbled over a jutting rock. It had dug into his foot and he let out a small howl, fell to the ground, and began coughing harder than before. An oversight, the man thought, a fallacy living in a world sentenced to death. He groaned.
So much dust here.
He lay there thinking about his throbbing toe, and the dryness in his mouth. He blinked several times and watched the sweat drip from his face and evaporate into the dirt.
The ground was like hot coals on his skin.
He staggered upright. A little further.
His eyes once again found the city, the beacon of hope. It had suddenly become so far. Miles of nothingness separated them, fallen trees and ashen logs, scorched by the fury of godless devils. Reminders of his inevitable defeat, each mocking every step he took.
Won't die here, not at this place.
He staggered the first few steps, took in a deep breath, and dragged his feet into their previous rhythm. This was no time to feel pain, and there was no point to suffer. Who was going to help? There were no heroes left to save him. They were already dead. They had died in the final chapter, while he wandered the epilogue of their tragedy.
Not meant for this world.
He was beginning to feel the heat overcome him, so he unscrewed the canteen again. He rose it shakily to his lips and took another sip, just enough to swish around his mouth. It was getting empty. He re-screwed the lid and peered closer at the city. He wondered if he would find water there before he died, and he decided that he might, and continued his trek. If nothing else, he would have a little shade.
He could feel the blisters on both of his feet, staging a painful protest against his mind. Over the months his shoes had become worn down, with the tops having come apart from their bottoms halves. He had not been able to find anything new, so he had simply tied them together with pieces of string. They didn't do what they used to, but they were better than walking the wasteland bare. He smiled wearily, such small comforts were all he could ask for.
~****~
As he walked he began to pay less attention to what he was doing. His body felt more fatigued, each step becoming a great victory. Yet there was no time to stop; death was catching up to him. Death never tired.
John, you're so dreary.
I'm just saying it's not possible. He had started to think about life before the end, and immediately chastised himself. He had sworn not to think of the better times, today was not yesterday. He could not afford weakness here, after all, yesterday's weakness meant death today and he could not face that.
He couldn't.
But today was different, today the man found he had no strength to resist the magnetizing pull of fond memories. Today he felt like he was probably going to die, and he did not want to die both painfully and miserably. He wanted to die remembering them, because he had promised them he would.
Behind him the sun was fading, slowly falling behind the horizon and giving up its assault. The lonely man stopped and turned to it. He squinted into the face of his cosmic tormentor, and thought about a lot of things. What was it she had said about the sun? He pushed his sweating hair from his face, and let his features soften. No, it wasn't the sun. She had been talking about the stars, something about the stars.
When we die, we all become stars.
Why?
Stars are our souls, I think. Something like that. He had laughed at her, he was sure he had. He'd always laughed at her fantasies. Things like that were so childish, nothing but mementos of history's ignorance.
He had wondered how she could possibly believe in them, how she could put her faith into something so ridiculous. When we die we become dirt, he would say, and that's the sorry end of it.
He was surrounded by dirt. Bad memories.
He coughed twice into his sleeve and slowly sat down, the ground felt hard and uncomfortable. His eyes followed the sun as it shrank behind the horizon, rising on another wanderer, chasing him into the gates of hell. He felt his body cooling down, and allowed himself to lay backwards.
After a few moments he found himself on his side, staring at the dirt beside him. He flicked a piece of rock with his finger, and smiled despite himself. There was nothing left to smile about here, not anymore, not yet. He rolled over onto his back and propped himself up on his elbows. He swallowed the saliva in his mouth and traced his hand over the pain in his leg. He did not want to walk anymore.
His throat was dry and dusty. He swallowed again and felt like crying. Once more he unfastened the canteen, unscrewed the lid and let it fall to the ground. Licking his lips eagerly he tipped it slowly over his face, thinking hard. Then he realized he didn't care anymore. He opened his parched mouth and allowed the water to fall into it, and all over his old, dirt-ridden features. He then fell back onto the hard ground with a painful thump, and dropped the empty canteen into the dirt. He lay there embracing the coolness of the water and the feeling of a wet throat. He lay there staring up at the fading light in the sky, and thinking about many things.
Finally he rose from the dirt and began peering away into the distance. He looked first at the city, a sad monument of yesterday. Then he looked at the dead tree he had spotted before, a charred thing rising five or so feet from the earth. It wasn't that far anymore. He began walking towards it, because he felt lonely laying there in the middle of nowhere, with no marking or symbol.
~****~
When he arrived at the tree his body had never felt more defeated. He collapsed against it, and leaned back on its blackened frame. He sat there feeling the moistness on his face and his muscles relax, and he smiled to himself. This time there was a strangeness to the smile, it was real. He began to think about the earth, and he wondered if it had ever thought about him, or if it ever thought about what had happened to it. He thought about Mary and Tom, and about T.V. and popcorn. He thought about a lot of things, but most of all he thought the stars looked beautiful tonight.
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