After Ragnarok (pt.1)

I looked out upon the world, my world. It was dark, gloom redefined in grays and blacks. The air was still and everything was dead calm. That’s almost an oxymoron, dead and calm never should be put into the same sentence. Death is rarely a calm occasion here. As far as my eyes can see, I am the only thing that is alive in this broken down town. Even that is questionable in my current state of mind. Sometimes I wake up at dusk and expect to find that this was all one long and grueling nightmare of sorts. But unfortunately, that’s not the case. So I guess this really is life. I know that I’ll never think of it as anything worthy of that name. This is only a bleak and dreary existence, and one that I know isn’t worth anything. The only motivation that I have, as slim as it is, is to continue to kill. Emotions, feelings…unworthy people…all that good stuff. I haven’t had a decent victim in a while. Perhaps that should be remedied soon. Sooner rather than later would suit me fine.1

Perhaps I lived once, but that was long ago. So long ago in fact, that I have practically forgotten it. It’s almost like it never happened, as though it was a different person that lived then. Someone must have been masquerading as me in a surreal form of life. There is nothing soft about me now. I am as cold and unfeeling as my surroundings. But what else can you expect from me? 2

Shh….there’s movement on the horizon of this forsaken land. A dark figure moving, a picture of silky black on suede black. A stranger seems to be approaching. This is interesting, for it is the first sign of life that I have seen in what seems to be a long time. What could it possibly be? I hope that it is food. Blood sounds good right now. It is one of the only things that retains its color in this grey world.3

Silently I move through the inky darkness that surrounds me. Almost all of the grey tinges are gone from the sky. My world has no bright colors or lights. The only sounds are usually that of the night, and lately even those don’t exist, for as I have stated, this town is dead. Those crumbling and decaying buildings are more alive than I am sometimes, and I’m the only creature that is stubborn enough to try to live here. Even the rats have fled for better places, whilst all the humans have died. Now there’s nothing left of what used to be a pretty little town. Nothing, not even me, for I don’t exist. Maybe I’m just your imagination. A nightmare best left alone, just another part of the dark night, nothing substantial, nothing real.4

What am I talking about? You don’t even exist, do you? I think that that was a rhetorical question; there was no reason for you to answer. I don’t want to know anyway. My blade is already drawn, ready for a fight. There’s no reason to think that the vague shape up ahead is an enemy, except that there is no other class of people anymore. This is a dog eat dog world, there are no allies. I’m not afraid of death, but I’m not sure I want to die. A small part of me reasons that death can’t be worse or much different from the ‘life’ that I live now. But a large part of me argues that there are no certainties in life, except darkness and pain, and that it could ALWAYS get worse. When I come upon the stranger, I am prepared to kill on sight. In the murky light that I have long grown accustomed to I see something that makes me stop in my tracks. Do you believe this? A child! I did not think that there were any left. I assumed that the human race was a dying species and that the ‘survivors’ like myself either stayed to themselves or killed off the others. This lone child cannot be.5

I shake my head, trying desperately to dislodge the image from my retinas. I wonder briefly if I am going insane. Wait. You can’t go anywhere that you already are. I sniff the air and find that it smells vaguely familiar and the scent of it sends my mind back to a different time…back before… 6

I snap myself back into the present. It is a harsh and brutal reality, but it is better to live here than to go back to that time and feel death again, the death that made this horror my life. The child continues to stare at me. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with it. I must admit, if it had attacked, I would have been relieved and able to either harm it or leave it to its more than likely impending death…but no, this infant had to hug me. If it had cried, I may have slain it to end the noise, but it remained silent as ever. As gently as I know how, I push it away. I begin to return to my former place of rest. The sounds behind me let me know that the tot is following close at my heels. I guess it fears being left behind once more to fend for itself. Logically, I see no reason to try and keep it, that I should look at him as anything more than a stray dog…something to be rid of and not attached to, but his eyes…Not for the first time in my life, a long and exasperated sigh escapes me. That stops me in my tracks, true it is not the first such sigh I have made, but it is the first sound that I have made for longer than I care to remember.7

Talking to you doesn’t count, because you’re not really there. Perhaps I have completely lost my ability to communicate with humans. What? No, I am not a human, well…I am, or was, but no longer consider myself a part of the dying race known as mankind. I am not cynical, just practical. Nor am I pessimistic, merely realistic. I would say that I’m sorry that you do not share my point of view, but I am not. Such a thing is now beyond me, and good riddance. In what remains of this decaying world, everyone that is left is on their own. No one is to be trusted. You have yourself, and that is it. I’ve begun to wonder in my spare time, if I have crossed that imaginary line. You know the one of which I speak. Have I become a sociopath in my distancing? Or is this just a continuation of survival? It doesn’t really matter. This is all that I have and know right now, and it works. Besides, to change it might get me killed…and I am not sure if I’m ready for that yet.8

A rumbling noise echoes through the town. It’s coming from behind me. As I turn and duck, I pull out my weapons. They are the only things that have yet to fail me. The child stands before me with wide eyes, silent and unmoving. I could shoot him now, and he would stand there, a perfect target, and fall easily. The rumbling starts again, and it takes me a moment to realize that it is emitting from his stomach. Slowly I ease out of my crouch and stand upright once more. I take in his appearance truly for the first time. Beneath the grey dust that covers everything, I can make out a few features. He is slightly undernourished, he could weigh less than forty pounds and he looks to have survived seven years. Perhaps it is just the war and this thing known as life that has aged him. He’s probably only five or six. His eyes are of indiscernible color in this twilight world we live in that never sees day. Yes, I would almost bet on the younger age. It still bewilders me how he exists. Never the less, he is in need of some nourishment. It is a good thing he is a tot and not a babe still, for if he was there would be no way to keep him. I would have been forced to kill him to end his misery so that he did not die slowly of starvation. Of course, if he were a babe, something would have already eaten his crying carcass. 9

There is little to eat here. Most of the time you spend more energy finding and killing your food then you receive from eating it. I long ago trained my body to need little. You just pop in a few pills for nourishment and then eat a bar full of calories. I glance down at the tot that is always near me now. Well, I did say that I wanted another fresh kill under my belt… I give a smile. It is a happy smile in a way, one that in the old day I reserved for enemies. It’s the smile that shows I’m happy because I am contemplating the demise of some unwitting creature. The tot gave a step backwards and tripped over himself. He started to fall and I snatched him up in an instant. His eyes were wide with wonder and not a little bit of fear. I stood him back upon the rough terra. That’s another thing. All the plants are dead too. They are as rare as the innocent now days. Actually, this is the first innocent that I have seen since….well, let’s not get into that. Perhaps there is a small bit of hope for humanity after all if even this one child exists. Surely if it can happen once, it can happen again? There may yet be a reason to live.10

I shake my head in disgust of myself. Presented with a weak and unprotected youth I go all mushy. Someone kill me now. Now, to get food…I contemplate leaving him in one of the run down buildings and just barricading him in. The likeliness of another predator finding him if he stays put and silent isn’t all that high, but then again do I wish to run that chance with something so rare and therefore valuable? No one knows how many humans are left out there in the supposed wilderness, surviving as I am, apart from the pitiful things that are considered ‘cities’ now. In all truthfulness, they have reverted to instinctual behaviors. I, at least, do not claim to be human any longer, nor do I really have a social or sophisticated bone in my lithe body. Yes, that was an attempt at a joke. Now, on to food. I close my eyes and sniff the air for the scent of prey. I smell a mammal; you can always detect those because they are the only species that truly sweat. I turn and find that it is the kid at my heels that I smell. I find it slightly disturbing that I don’t think of him as prey anymore. But it would also disturb me if I could. It would mean that I had lost the small bit of humanity that I have left, and yet, that piece is an embarrassment and a hindrance to me. Sometimes I would like to not have it. I guess one can’t win for losing with me.11

I try to put all of this out of my mind and to concentrate at the task on hand. I begin to set off at a brisk pace, and then slow as I realize that the little tyke couldn’t keep up. Could he stand to travel for miles to find food? Once more I appraise him. There has to be something. My eyes rove over the decrepit town. Wasn’t there once a store? I’m certain that there must have been at one point. Maybe if we’re lucky we’ll find some food that has yet to be pillaged. I am unsure how long we have been traveling already.12

I sense a storm moving in. I can smell it upon the air. The promise of rain wafts in on air currents, the scent is alluring, but most likely a lie. It has been a long time since it truly rained. The drops that have fallen for the past year have been acidic, eating away and corroding what is left. The sky lets forth the first warning drops. The acid within each minute cylinder sizzles as it meets with a surface that it can eat away. 13

Instinctually, I start to run for the nearest cover, which happens to be what appears to be a house. I force open the remains of a barricaded door. I stop to ponder over this when I hear a sharp yipe from somewhere out in the rain. It’s the boy. He couldn’t keep up and is still quite a ways away from the shelter. I don’t think about it, for it has ceased to be a decision. I dash towards the little one and pick him up. 14

It is then that the sky opens up and lets forth more rain. Before it was just a sprinkling, now it was truly raining. I double over and try to shield the tyke with my body as much as possible as I desperately flee into the partial safety of the house. Once inside I set the child down and start to secure the house. There are no windows on this level. I’m not sure that I trust the basement. Who knows what could be lurking down there? I board up the battered remains of the door. By the marks on both sides I can tell it was once used to either keep something in or to keep something out. I find this idea a little less than comforting. I proceed upstairs to check up there. The scent of old death reaches my nostrils. It is not quite that of corpses rotting, but of something a little less tangible. Sometimes when you cross a battlefield of long ago you can still tell. Perhaps it is more of a whispering of wind that speaks to you deep inside letting you know that lives have been sacrificed for different reasons. Whatever it is, I know that I am entering a place where many died. I draw my gun and continue up the stairs, but with more caution now. There are some white bones lying around. It looks as if there was once a party going on here, right before everyone died. I wonder what they were thinking before they turned on one another. 15

I shake my head; it does not bode well to think of Ragnarok, the ending of the world as it was before. Funny, I can barely remember things before this. A wail from downstairs startles me out of my attempts to recall a better time. I take the stairs three at a time. The child has made the first noise I have heard. Instinctually I look for enemies. All I find is the tyke on the floor, clutching at his stomach. I can hear his stomach’s angry growls and his whimpering whine as tears slowly make tracks down his face. It is an odd sensation that hits me. Odd for me, who was a berserker in the Last Battle, to be unable to stand the crying of this little one. I have never had children, though I guess by reckoning I am more than of age to be able to carry. But even before the three years of continuous winter that stole many lives of both young and old blood, I never gave small children a thought. Now it seems that the young one’s tears were bringing about a side of me that I never knew existed. I wanted to stop his tears, to ease his pain. I ransacked the entire building in search of edible things. I found some food, though it was questionable at best. It was often my reasoning that something was better than nothing. Of course there was no fresh food, no, Jormungan, the giant snake, had made sure of that when he poisoned the land and air; but there was a little bit of canned food still remaining. My knife easily slid out of its leather sheath. If worse came to pass, the leather would be chewed to extract any nutrients available. I cut the lid off of the can. The label claimed that the contents were pickled beets. My nose crinkles at the strong smell of aged vinegar. I never cared for it much myself, but, food is food at this point in the game. Beggars can’t be choosers. 16

When the child was showed the food, he had the same reaction that I initially had. He was starving though, so he would have devoured anything I brought to him. He pulled out the first beet and slowly put it to his mouth. He spit it out into his hand as a mush. The look of pure revulsion on his face would have been comical if it weren’t so important that he eat and retain nutrients. I put my hand into the jar and pulled forth a golf-ball sized beet. I took a small bite from the side. The taste was unpleasant to me, but I forced it down, showing the child by example that any food was good food. Hesitantly, and grudgingly, he followed suit by putting the beet mush in his hand back into his mouth and forced himself to swallow. I could see the clear distaste on his face. I picked through four beats while the child forced himself to consume six. Afterwards I could tell that he was drowsy, but fighting it off well. In this land with no sun, moon, or stars, it is often difficult or impossible to tell time. Time is practically meaningless and completely relative anyway. For the first time, the child looks up at me and speaks. His voice shows his youth. “Is it safe to sleep?” My eyes must have gone as large as saucers. Imagine that! People still speak. Who would have thought? I start to open my mouth to speak, but find my vocal cords resisting from lack of use. Isn’t that just dandy? I just nod my head in the affirmative. The child lays his head down upon my knee and is soon breathing the deep breaths that are common to one sleeping peacefully and without fear. I think that I’m touched. Most likely I’m touched in the head. I slowly drift off to sleep, weary as always.17

We out slept the storm there, and moved when we awoke. I must admit, I have always been directionally challenged. It didn’t help that I only vaguely had an idea of where it was that I was going. Once, long ago, I heard that when the destruction of Midgard came there would be a single forest untouched by the destruction. I never believed that it was true. But then again, I don’t think that I believed the destruction would ever come about either. One encounter with Fenrir changed all that. That day I became a true berserker and lost myself in the Last Battle. Afterwards, I merely survived. I quit worrying about living or the rest of life. Until this tyke came along, that is. 18

So, now we are both trekking through this barren wasteland in search of a forest of life. This seems more than ironic to me and causes a smirk of a smile. The tyke looks as if he is distrustful of my smile, as well he should be. I don’t want him to fear me without due cause though, so I make another attempt at communicating with the young one. “What shall I call you?” My own voice shocks even my ears, so I am not surprised that the kid jumps. My voice is low for a woman’s, and husky because my throat is unused to working. The last time it worked was to scream as I gunned down my nearest adversary in battle and then put a dagger through the heart of a Giant with a flaming sword. Who knew that he happened to be allergic to obsidian?