You Remember

I remember that day very well. I remember when you walked down the street, almost home, earbuds in and smiling at the world. There was a lot for you to smile at, I think. You were coming home from a date with your girlfriend, weren’t you? Never found her body. 

You’re walking down a similar street now, but it’s not your street anymore. This one is wrought with broken fences, with blood painting the cement in wispy stripes. Smoke is choking the air bitterly, as if air has a neck to choke, and… There, that’s another rotten corpse. Someone who didn’t learn how to fight, then? Someone normal? Or someone who had learned, someone who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s when it doesn’t matter, when nothing you say can get you out of a situation. That’s when death is the best thing for you. When an offense is the least of your worries.

Speaking of offense, that’s what started all this off, I think. It had offended people. Most of them. It took three days for the loud minority to become the even louder and more violent majority. That was when you had to grab a kitchen knife and run for it. The news had been interesting to watch, even as the studios were overrun and set ablaze. Do you remember the exact moment it broke? Not just the news, of course, but everything. It is not the news that breaks something, but the very existence of that thing. And goodness, a lot of things had broken.

You hold onto your kitchen knife with sweaty hands as you skirt a pool of flaming oil. The buildings are still tall, at least. Weeds have grown up through the sidewalk, but they’re crunchy and brown, like the cracked skin of a dead city. Everyone else in this particular city seems to be dead. That’s good for you, at least. There, over behind that really tall one, something big seems to be on fire. And big things on fire are usually good things to avoid, so you… Well, you avoid it. 

It would have been nice if you could have avoided the mobs. I remember when you walked into the kitchen on that first day, shouted that you were home, and flicked on the radio. To this day, you’re not  quite sure why there was a radio in your kitchen. The TV was just around the corner, wasn’t it? You’re forgetting things. I’ve not forgotten, though, the way blood drained from your face when the host announced the new law. The way you ran up to your parent’s room, the glass of water you’d been going about finding forgotten. 

What you would give for a glass of water now. Most of what you’d taken has been splashed on burns and used to clean out the random lacerations you’ve gathered thus far. A stray cat bolts across your path, startling you. It disappears into the shadows, and you don’t bother to follow, as cats are rather stringy to the taste. You’re in a big city now, there has to be a corner store or something that hasn’t been set on fire. There has to be something that’s not been set on fire. There, a streetlight. The electricity was cut ages ago, so it’s useless, but it’s not on fire. It’s something normal.

Just like the walls of your parent’s bedroom seemed normal that day, when you’d burst into their room without knocking. Like it had been when you’d found the room empty. If I recall correctly, you’d gone to check on your younger sister next. She was gone too. Then the garage, to see if the car was still there, and it wasn’t. I remember your face when you realized that they’d left you. You still haven’t figured out where they went, have you?

There are other things to be figured out now, though, so keep your head up. All you need to do is find something to eat and not run into anyone, okay? Okay, good. That’s a good plan. Your hands are shaking, darling. Why would they be shaking? You’re used to this by now, aren’t you? The blood? The fire? The question marks? You’re used to questioning everything by now, aren’t you?

You should have by now. There were a lot of questions when you ran back inside to check for a note, in case they were only going to the store or something. I think you did find one, somewhere, can’t remember where. It might have been on top of the toaster. What did it say? Just the word ‘sorry’, I think. Your little sister’s penmanship, almost as shaky as your hands when you read that note, was scrawled across the yellow notebook paper. That was when you realized how screwed you were. 

Hey, look. There’s someone over there. No, not over there, the other way. The short one. Yeah, them. Wait, no, don’t- and you’re walking over to them now. Good gracious, what part of ‘do not do that’ did you not understand? But you’re going now, and I suppose there’s no way to stop you. There never has been, has there? That’s okay. You’re halfway across the street now, don’t step in that mess, and you can see the person’s face better now. Oh. They’re a kid. A young one, at that. They look a bit like your sister did. A redhead, bright green eyes that are flashing in the light. It’s eerie how alike they seem, but your sister was shorter, and… And… Younger. But it’s been a while, hasn’t it?

It’s been a while since you’ve seen your sister. When was that? She was playing in the living room with a doll, I think, having fun. Being a child and all that. She was playing with dolls. You remember going to see if any of the dolls were missing. One of them was, her favorite, and you knew your family was gone for good. Good job remembering. Do you remember the rest, though? Do you remember trying to find them? Or do you just remember walking? All the walking that came after the news broke? I think you should remember that. 

The kid’s noticed you now. It’s funny, she looks just like your sister does. In fact, she seems to recognize you. Come on, you idiot, how do you not connect the dots? Months of hopes being shattered? That’s not enough! There, there we go. Great. You’ve broken into a run now, under the pretense of trying not to get run over by one of the cars that would have roamed the streets in the earlier days. The kid is looking at you strangely now, a pocket knife in one hand raised, in case you’re not who they think you are. Maybe you’re not. But you might be. See? They recognize you. 

“Eren?” The kid shouts. 

Congrats, it’s your sister. You’re running now, really running, because the road’s wider than you had thought. Your sister isn’t running. You don’t need to know why. You just want to get to your sister, I think. Am I right? Good. You’ve missed her voice. And you made it across the street without dying, which is lovely, as always. Your sister takes one step forward, and you don’t bother to take into account the blood that’s staining the edge of her jeans. It’s not her blood. You don’t care. The flickering lights of a burning city cast their lot in on you two, watching tiredly, as if they’re tired of observing so many people die. Your sister’s going to be safe, though, she’ll be fine. You’re there to protect her now. I can’t say anything for your safety, but she’ll be fine. You think back to the words you’d heard on the radio as you kneel down to make sure she’s really okay, that nothing’s bleeding. They had been bloody words, ones that sparked all this chaos, the ones that incited the end of the world.

“Snow Cones are now legal.”