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Better Days

Alex Watt

    They gathered around the wood burning stove in the center of the only room in their run down shack of a house. The day—like every other—was spent parading in search of food, tobacco, and wood. Ruins of skyscrapers surrounded them, once what was Toronto in the better days; the days when Man was ruler of his own destiny. Remnants of former civilization remained in the form of broken down automobiles and dead electronics. Stories about the days before passed down through generations, but much of it had been forgotten.
    There were five of them in all, three men and two women, young by the standards of yesteryear. Huddled closely together out of necessity, caused by the harshness of winter winds, they prepared the little food they had managed to procure. “I know those goddamn sons of bitches down yonder over on Ellis got plenty of food and they just aint’ tellin’ us.” The eldest man, Jonah—the self proclaimed leader of the clan—spoke.
    “I say we do ‘em like we did to those black folk that migrated down this way last summer.” That voice belonged to Stew. He and his wife, Georgia, had met the other three several years prior, after getting run out of Detroit.
    Hanna interjected next, “Stewie, I don’t like where you’re goin’ with this.”
    Mikey sat silent with his legs stretched out in front of him, smoking the last of his stale tobacco. Ribs protruded from his skin and were visible through a hole in his tattered shirt.
    “Me and Stew been talkin’” Jonah said, “Our rations ain’t gonna keep us ‘live through the winter, we gotta do what we gotta do.”
    “And I say we do ‘em soon, I’m goddamn hungry and from what I hear they still got cans! Can you believe it!” Stew said.
    “Oh lord, I can’t believe I’m sayin’ this, but we gotta do it.” Georgia said.
    “What do you think of all this shit Mikey?” Hanna’s big, blue eyes met Mikey’s and every bone in his body was overcome with a tingling sensation. He had a soft spot for Hanna and she knew it.
    “I think I don’t really give a fuck what we do.” Mikey said before he stood abruptly and walked out into the cold by his lonesome. Hanna followed in pursuit after it was apparent he wasn’t returning.
    He was standing around the side of their modest house, shivering in the cold as his cigarette was extinguished by the snow. Wordlessly, Hanna took his hand in hers. Something had been digging at Mikey for the past few days, it was obvious to Hanna who knew him better than he possibly knew himself. Normally, reluctant to show much emotion, Mikey had been melancholy as of late. Happiness was not expected of him, but this world was not one for the mentally weak. Death eventuated from self-pity. It was a man eat man world, either eat or be eaten.
    “Mikey.” Hanna proceeded with caution, in hopes to not cause further distress.
    “I’ve had enough Han.” Mikey finally turned towards Hanna revealing the frozen tears on his cheeks.
    “Oh Mikey!” The sight of him almost brought her to tears, “What’s the matter?”
    “I been reading,” he said.
    Hanna had heard of this so-called reading before and she had heard stories about books and magazines and newspapers and such, but never had she heard of somebody she knew actually reading. “You’ve been reading Mikey? But it can’t be true—there are no more books, how would you even learn to read?”
    “I found some books that those negros brought up after we killed ‘em and raided their stash.”
    Hanna was perplexed. Mikey would never keep a secret from her, or so she thought,
    “You shoulda told me Mikey!”
    “There was no way I could. The beautiful pictures in these books, they would tear you to pieces as they have done to me. Oh... and the words! The words!”
    “But, how can you read?”
    “I taught myself. See, it isn’t that hard. My pops taught me the alphabet and showed me how to write my name when he was still around. All I had to do was sound out the letters.”
    A strange feeling rose over Hanna, whilst she was angry Mikey would keep such knowledge from him, she felt admiration for what he had accomplished. “And what did they say Mikey? What did the words in the books say?”
    “Why, they said all sorts of things. There was one about a cat in a hat, one about red fish and blue fish, and the words! They rhyme! There were pictures to match the words as well, beautiful pictures, swelling with colour, more colour than ever imaginable.”
    “That sounds quite wonderful. But I still don’t understand. Should you not be happy and boastful of your discovery?”
    “You see Hanna,” Mikey met her eyes again and the same sensation ran through his bones, he was madly in love with this woman and about to break her heart, “I got to thinking how wonderful the world must have been for somebody to create such vivid imagery, such imaginative words that rhythmically flow onto the paper like how rivers flow into the oceans.” He fumbled around with his pockets in search of a cigarette that didn’t exist. He continued, “I realized, you see, that such a world must have been free of murder, free of starvation, free of war, free of racism! A world completely free of hate, and it made me resent my life, it made me resent man for becoming what we have become.”
    “But it’s not so bad Mikey. You got me after all.” She squeezed his hand tighter.
    They returned to the cabin after Hanna promised to keep close guard over his little secret. Late in the night Mikey left. He was never heard from again, for he was in a perpetual search for better days.

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