The Seven Habits

Her jaw hung open and the air just above her was thick with the buzzing of flies. They darted about erratically, swooping and swerving and changing directions without rhyme or reason. Only her green eyes tracked their movements, watching this troupe of aerial dancers with what she hoped to be the most minimal of movements.

Within seconds, Ocean felt one crawling across her upper lip. It’s tiny legs tickled and her arms tensed as she fought the urge to reach up and flick it away. Even that undercurrent of movement caused the insect to take to the air however, and it rejoined the dark cloud that swarmed around her head. Inside, she felt like crying as frustration squeezed her in its vise-like grip, but as her mother had so often reminded her, tears were nothing more than a waste of water. Instead, she took a breath though her nose so slowly that her chest didn’t seem to rise at all.

Gotta stay calm…

Soon, the fly—or one just like it—returned. It crept across her face, the movement feeling like the tip of a feather faintly brushing against her cheek, making the corners of her mouth want to twitch. This time Ocean was able to subdue her instincts; she remained perfectly still and allowed the small creature to explore her face with its hairy appendages.

Just a little further…

The tickling sensation moved from her lips and become muted as the insect crawled across her tongue. Ocean snapped her jaw shut and the fly responded with panic. It buzzed through the inside of her mouth, ricocheting off the soft lining of her cheeks and brushing the ridges just behind her teeth with its wings. She swallowed hard, ignoring the little vibration in the back of her throat as the struggling insect was carried down into her gullet. Then all the little movements disappeared and Ocean opened her mouth again, resetting the trap for the next unsuspecting victim.

Seven flies later, Ocean began to smell them: that putrid reek that seemed to seep through the molecules of the air like a spreading cancer. The stench blossomed slowly; at first it was only enough to make wrinkle her nose as if her nostrils were trying to close up with an instinctive reaction. Shortly after, she realized that she had begun breathing exclusively through her mouth in an effort to further shield herself from the invading odor. Experience had taught her that before long the smell would be so thick and rancid that it would flood her mouth with its greasy, thick pungency. The stink would taint what little saliva still moistened her throat and would rise like waves of putrid gas, leeching into her sinus passages as if the smell were actually emanating from somewhere deep within her own body.

And by then it would be too late. There would be nowhere left to run and the suffocating smell would wrap around her like a moldy funeral shroud.

It was definitely time to move on.

She sat up slowly, dispersing the nebula of flies into a scattered throng of dark specks. Peering above the slab of concrete closest to her, she saw a street with clumps of grass sprouting through the cracks in the pavement. Shards of wood and chunks of brick littered the ground amid glass that sparkled in the sun where a telephone pole had snapped in half and crushed the remains of a car that had been skeletonized by fire so long ago that no trace of ash remained. There was no sign of movement out there in the wastelands… not yet.

Ocean scrambled to her feet and, for a second, the world around her swooned. She closed her eyes, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet as her hand clutched the jagged edge of the concrete. This had been happening more and more often lately. When she moved, it would sometimes seem as if it took reality a few seconds to catch up with her and during that time, she seemed to float and drift like her soul had become untethered from her body.

In addition to this, she had come to suspect that she wasn’t alone in her own head. Sometimes it felt as though there were someone else in there, someone who looked out through her eyes and saw the world as if from a great distance. She suspected that this other presence was what caused the lag in her perception of time. In those few brief seconds, she felt her experiences overlapping with those of the intruder’s and all the sensations of life were filtering through two observations.

Of course in the same light, Ocean also suspected sometimes that she wasn’t real, that she was nothing more than the leading character in someone’s dream. If she only managed to stay alive long enough, the dreamer would eventually awaken and free her from the torment of life. It wouldn’t be like dying. She would simply wink out of existence with no pain or regrets or remorse.

Until that happened, however, she had to keep her ass alive. Which meant she needed to get moving… and now.

Ocean zigzagged through the wreckage of a society she’d never known in a slight crouch, staying low and moving as quickly as her weakened system would allow. Every few minutes, she’d duck behind the crumbled remains of a building or some formless hulk of metal. She’d remain as still as her surroundings, listening for the slightest sound with her head cocked to the side, sniffing the air like an animal. The stench was still present but not as thick… which meant she was heading in the right direction. How many screams had she heard because people who thought they were heading to safety were actually delivering themselves into the clawing hands of death? Too many to count, and she was determined not to be one of them.

Ocean picked her way through burnt-out buildings and dilapidated walls, through labyrinths of girders and old billboards that had crashed to the ground. The smell got fainter and fainter until there was nothing more than the reek of her own body wafting up to assault her nose. In time, she came to a tangle of vehicles that blocked the road ahead. The rusted, metal frames looked as if the cars and trucks had been fused into one another; bumpers ensnarled with fenders, hoods crumpled into fractured engine blocks, a myriad of spiderweb cracks like ghosts on dust covered windshields.

Squeezing into the gap between a dented, partially open door and the side of an ambulance, Ocean squirmed across the backseat of a car, taking care that the springs poking through the tufts of stuffing didn’t rake across her skin. After baking in the sun all day, the interior of the vehicle was so hot that condensation had begun beading up on the windows and she took a moment to lick them clean; she could taste the grime from the glass coating her mouth in an oily sheen… but the liquid also soothed the sandpaper-like feeling on her tongue and, for the time being at least, relieved her gums from the pressure that made it feel as if they were attempting to squeeze her yellowed teeth right out of her head.

After slaking her thirst, she continued crawling through the maze of automobiles until she came to a car that had withstood the ravages of time relatively well. What looked to be a mound of filthy rags, were actually clothes, piled into the floorboard and a threadbare sheet was rumpled across the backseat. In the space between the seats and the rear window, a collection of small figurines had been lined up. They were all glass and almost exclusively animals: rabbits with severed ears, gouged dolphins caught in mid-leap, even a bear whose head was precariously balanced on its shattered neck. Ocean looked at them and smiled, as always.

This was her room and had been for as long as she could remember. Her father used to bring the little animals back when he’d go foraging for food and supplies and she could remember tugging at the hems of his pants, bouncing from one foot to the other, as he playfully kept the newest addition just out of reach. He’d been a good man, her father. He’d tell her stories about the way the world used to be as he tucked her in for the night, and would sing what he called one hit wonders and blasts from the past softly while puttering about their shelter.

She missed him. Sometimes so badly that it felt as though something were deep inside her, eating away all the things that made life worth living. But at least she still had Mama; even if the older woman had become more cold and distant and mean, she wasn’t entirely alone… and that somehow helped.

Ocean squirmed out the other side of her room and practically fell into a circular clearing formed in the very center of all those wrecked vehicles. A tarp had been strung overhead as long as she could remember, forming a ceiling of sorts, and the setting sun filtered through the canvas, tinting everything under it with a bluish glow.

Ocean’s mother was crouched on the far side of the clearing with her back to the girl, and her head snapped around when she heard her daughter enter.

“I’m home, Mama.”

Her mother glared at her through eyes that looked like they had receded into her skull. The older woman’s face was sharp and angular, the frown which pulled at the corners of her mouth only made those features even more defined. She said nothing, but pulled her hands tightly to her chest and angled her body even further away from the young girl.

“There’s some rotters somewhere over by the… what’s that?”