I thought of our goodbyes this morning, and almost fell over into the green veil of the forest. Don’t prolong this suffering, I ordered myself.
He raised his hand and waved in one swift movement. He couldn’t hear my whimper, or how everything in me started crashing down. I waved back. Goodbye, I love you both.
I was glad that Ruby missed our quiet conversation. She kept on swinging through the air, shouting: “Grampa, push me! Higher!”
To tear my eyes away from Darlene and her suffering was unbearable, but to look away from Dad and Ruby was a hundred, a thousand, a million times worse. I wasn’t bound to them by strings, it felt more like steel ropes. Which tool, or how much inner strength would I need, to sever those ropes?
I closed my eyes and turned away from them. All air escaped my lungs, my chest burning. I stepped out again, using the trees as crutches. I was resting my hands on the bark and it tore them up in response. I could still feel Dad’s gaze on my back, I knew he was there, but I couldn’t turn around and face him again. If I did, I would lose the will to leave.
I stumbled over roots and slipped on wet moss. My pyjamas tangled in branches, my slippers and the hem of my trousers soaked by the damp forest. I walked until my legs gave in. I crawled to a trunk of a fallen tree and nestled against it.
There was something wrong with my hearing. All I could hear was the whirring of my blood, like I was submerged in water. But I saw just fine, my eyes first rested on the ferns, and then on the thick green canopy of branches. So beautiful, I thought.
My thoughts turned back to my family. Devastation greeted me like an old friend, hugging me and patting me on the back. Soaking into me like rain into parched land. Watching me cry a river over the future I wasn’t allowed to live.
Frank
“Grampa, where’s Mummy?”
Mark
One would think that my lungs and the bronchi–barely working and feeling like they’re on fire–would dominate my every thought, that they’d be the only thing I worry about. Surprisingly though, I managed to fit in other things too.
Even in this state–probably because of my bitterness–I was still angry with the system which was turned on its head. Where only the very rich could achieve any sizable change, the kind of people who didn’t mind climbing over others to get a little higher. It was a world in which regular people meant little. Unless influential people care about you, you didn’t matter. Your voice didn’t count.
I wish I could have looked into people’s minds, one by one, find out why they aren’t revolting against this system. How could they live in their tiny world, consisting only of work, hobbies and friends? Why don’t they all, or at least the majority of them, want to join the Association and try to change things? Establish new rules, a new regime. Find serenity, peace.
Did they perhaps see things the way I did, that nobody cared about them, because they didn’t have enough money and influence? If they couldn’t do anything about it, why bother?
I wondered if I would have joined the Association and The Collective if my childhood had been happy, or at least free of violence. Why would I have? It was the way I grew up that shaped my character and moral values, made them so different from my peers’. I wouldn’t say that they were completely indifferent to the weaknesses of others or that they agreed with violence, but since it never personally affected them, they turned a blind eye to it all.
Was I taking my revenge on other people because I was unlucky to be born to the bad ones?
I wished selfishly that I had a little more time to spend with Connie. But I knew that joining The Collective and helping to shape a new world was the right thing to do. There was such a poor choice of leaders, past and present, and one could only try to choose the lesser evil. What would it be like if a truly influential position went to someone who cared about people, animals, the environment? But how could someone honourable, with a clear conscience and unselfish intentions get into a leadership position?
This was exactly why The Collective had put so much effort into ensuring that the only survivors were considerate, helpful people who treated everyone with respect, valued animals and the gifts of nature. People who didn’t take anything for granted. I wondered who would end up leading the new community.
I focused on these idyllic images and peace finally wedged itself into my life. I was almost sorry that I wouldn’t be a part of this new world. But I knew that I wouldn’t be happy there, not even in that community of good people, because I wouldn’t be able to let go of my past.
My thoughts immediately went to the man who’d become a legend in The Collective. I couldn’t speak for everyone, but I definitely wasn’t the only one who admired him. He was the only criminal whose actions I agreed with.
He was from Perth, but I never got a chance to meet him personally. In The Collective he was only known under the initials PF. He definitely wasn’t a saint, and when it came to violence, he didn’t hold back. What he had done was horrific, and often repulsive, but I could completely understand his reasoning. I probably wouldn’t be capable of it myself, hell, I couldn’t even enact my own revenge on my parents and Raymond Davis, besides coughing in their faces. I didn’t have it in me to hurt them, but that–at least in my opinion–didn’t mean that PF didn’t have any problems with violence. I think it was the exact
