#oneaday Day 663: Wasteland Diaries, Part 11

I get to my feet, the apple in my hand, and look at the tree in bewilderment. What was clearly long-dead a few minutes ago is now in the prime of life, its branches filled with lush green leaves and a number of tasty-looking apples like the one that hit me on the head.

I eye the apple suspiciously. It looks like a regular old apple, even if its origin is currently unexplainable. I lift it in front of my face and examine it closely. It is flawless — no dirt, no rot, no holes, no bruises. It is quite possibly the most delicious looking apple I have ever seen, and my growling stomach refuses to allow me not to eat it.

I bite into it, my teeth breaking through the hard skin and into the soft flesh within, and the juice — just the right balance of sweet and tart — explodes into my mouth. It’s as delicious as it looks, and I’m glad. This strange situation in which I find myself right now is filled with unexplained mysteries and unpredictable phenomena, but it’s good to know that a delicious-looking apple is still delicious.

Or is it? Something feels wrong. My vision feels like it’s fading — a creeping darkness slowly encroaching on my peripheral vision. I feel it closing in. It’s oppressive, claustrophobic — and just plain scary. I don’t like it, but wherever I turn, there it is, like a dark mist slowly fogging my vision until eventually it engulfs me completely.

Darkness and silence for a moment. No, not quite silence — I can hear my heartbeat. But that’s all. The air is still here in the dark place, and there’s no light of any kind.

A flash, and then I see “it” happening before me, projected into the blackness in front of me like an old movie. There’s no trace of colour in the scene, and no sound, but I remember it all too well. It was, without a doubt, the worst day of my life, and there isn’t a single day that has gone by since then that I don’t regret what I did in the lead-up to it — and what I did afterwards.

It was a terrible event, for sure, and one which turned the world upside-down and inside-out. It ruined everything, destroyed everything, tore us apart — and it was my fault. I couldn’t handle what I was getting into, couldn’t control myself — and that brought about everything which followed. I wish it hadn’t.

I miss him so much. I call out to him often, though I know he can’t answer — and likely wouldn’t want to. But I have to keep trying. It was my actions that caused this — the consequences of which I am now watching before me, over and over. I can’t look away. My eyes are locked on the sight of the projection — or perhaps it’s following my gaze around. It’s impossible to tell here. All I know is that I want to escape.

In the distance, a strange soun–

My eyes snap open. I’m disoriented. It’s still dark, but I can make out faint shapes now. It takes a moment for my brain to register the fact that I’m lying on my bed staring at the ceiling, and my alarm is bleeping. I’m covered in sweat and my heart is racing. That must have been some dream, but the detail of it is already fading. I remember something about… my old home? I haven’t thought about that place for years. It must be the stress of everything which has been going on — life hasn’t exactly been easy since “it” happened, but I cope.

I groggily sit up, thump the small, battery-powered alarm clock on top to stop its noise, and swing my legs out of the bed, then with some effort, stand up. My bare feet are silent on the floor as I walk to the bathroom. It’s not a long walk, stuck in this pokey little hovel as I am, and before long I’ve reached my destination.

I pull the cord hanging from the ceiling and there’s a click, but nothing happens. Power’s out again. I mutter a curse under my breath and try to do my best in the little moonlight coming in through the tiny window.

I splash my face with some water — at least that’s still working — and feel a little more alert. I give myself a cursory scrub with the tiny bit of soap I have left but don’t really feel it’s worth making much of an effort. Today will be a day much like any other, I’m sure — it has been ever since “it” happened. There’s no sense complaining, though — I had my part to play in things coming to this point, and I’ve accepted my punishment. I don’t know how long I’ll be doomed to this existence — perhaps forever? — but I resolved once the worst had passed that I would try my best to make things right, to make up for what I’d done.

I didn’t know if it would be enough. Somehow I doubted it. Some things you just can’t take back, some damage you just can’t undo. The world certainly wasn’t built in a day, but it can certainly be destroyed in a heartbeat. Can it be fixed, though? Will things ever go back the way they were?

Images from my dream float through my mind. I recall the apple tree springing to life — one moment a bare, dead tree, the next exploding with life. Perhaps deep down I believe that all can be healed, that all can be made all right again.

Those feelings must be buried pretty deep in my subconscious, however, because all I feel right now is a lingering sense of hopelessness and guilt.

I sit back down on the side of my bed, put my head in my hands and weep. It’s a familiar feeling — almost comforting. To let the emotions out, almost as if the tears running freely down my face are little fragments of pain flowing from my body — it’s painful, but it’s also a relief. I know this feeling will pass, but as I sob and gulp, my mind filling with familiar, dark thoughts, I surrender to it once again.