Chicken Scratch

The Teenage Writing Site

She forgets what their faces look like after 35 days. The one photo she had of them had been long gone by them, destroyed by fire and time and hate, so now she's just left with fleeting memories that are already faded at the edges. She remembers blonde hair and kind smiles and the deepest blue there ever was, but nothing else comes back together. It's a puzzle missing the most important pieces, and they're long gone.

The graying man with the optimisitc words dies ten days after that, and then she's left alone, alone, alone. He died while extending a hand out for a frail boy on the ground when the bullet ripped through his chest and then everything turned red. She didn't stay long enough to figure out if it was an accident or planned or to get to say goodbye, her feet carried her away as fast and far as they could. She doesn't forget, so now she stays alone, because alone protects her, even if alone kills her a little more each day.

Not long after that the days start to blur together so much she just stops counting. This is forever now, the loneliness, the war, the death and destruction, there is no after. This is the after and the before becomes a dream she can't remember because it slipped her mind the second she woke up. Her words fall on no one's ears as she crawls house to house, state to state, trying to find somewhere safe, somewhere she can stay. Her heart tells her there isn't anywhere like that anymore, that everything is this, but she hopes.

Mirrors aren't worth her time anymore, she doesn't look like her anymore; her hair is so caked in blood and dirt and grease that it's not even the same color and she's nearly positive someone could smell her miles away. She's alive, though, so she doesn't care anymore. She has bigger concerns, like her lack of food, sleep, and sanity. Words don't come out of her mouth anymore, because what's the point? They don't fall on anyone and she's scared one day she'll open her mouth up to talk and ever her words won't come out.

She starts counting days again the day she comes across him. The gun pointing straight at her head he wields is visible before his face, but when the moonlight shifts and shines on it, she finally gets a glimpse. It's clear he's somewhere around her age, but his face is marred with a bruise that makes it hard to decipher his features and his hair flies in a million different directions.

"Are you with anyone?" he grunts, keeping his gun perfectly steady as he looks around. 

An answer doesn't come from her mouth, but by the grim look on her face he assumes she's alone. The bullet could kill her before another single word was spoken and she'd be gone, a problem no more, but her silence kills him and he can't find the anger within him to do it. The gun slowly comes down and she doesn't move even then, her eyes simply fixed on him.

"I'm looking for my brother," he speaks, though he doesn't know why. He should just leave, get out of here and leave the weird, mute girl to whatever she was doing before.

"I..." her crackles out of her body, and the girl's face suddenly looks surprised at the sound that comes out. "I haven't seen anyone for months."

He nods and finds another question popping out of his mouth before he can stop it. "Where are you going?"

Tilting her head curiously to the side, a new look in her eyes that hasn't been there in who knows how long, she replies with a shrug and the dim response of, "Anywhere."

No more words are spoken, but by the way he stands by her side and helps her collect her things, it's merely implied that they will go anywhere together.

The first time she smiles again it sneaks up on her and comes from nowhere. The boy with the dark blonde hair and gruff words is talking about his brother, the one he's trying to find, and even his words soften. He speaks about how smart he is, going halfway across the country for college, and how it had been them together against the world for as long as he could remember, always and forever. A smile cracks across her face when he finishes his story and makes a crack about his brother's height. The motion of smiling feels foreign, like some kind of action not capable of being brought over from before, but she can't deny she likes the feeling.

"Do you think he's alive?" she asks. His face becomes hard, his eyes dark, and she regreats letting the words leave but she's been thinking about it since the word brother left his mouth the first time they met. 

"He wouldn't be stupid enough to die on me, I'd kill him," he replies. She thinks the answer is a copout, but she doesn't say anything.

It's a whole 25 days before the thought even crosses her mind that they don't know each other's names.

"Caroline," she whispers out one night while they hide out in a small shed with creaking boards and an earthy smell.

"What?" he asks, his voice exhausted and gravelly.

"It's my name."

His head whips up and a small smile he attempts to hide finds its way to his lips. "I'm Jess...it's nice to meet you, Caroline."

"You look like a Jess," Caroline mumbles, just before the world becomes black and sleep takes over her body.

"What is going to happen to me when we find your brother?" she finally questions one day as they drive down the highway. The question has been weighing down on her for a while, but it wasn't until just now that she could get the guts up to even think about asking it. 

"What do you mean?" he reples gruffly. "What would happen to you?"

"I mean, do I get left behind?" she responds, her voice oddly small in the space. "I don't think I can go back to being alone, I don't think I can go back before meeting you."

The words hang in the air, unanswered vocally, but one hand comes off the wheel and meets her's. There's no declaration of love, no long response, but she doesn't need one anyway. Her fingers interlace with his and even though the world is still falling around them, she can't help but feeling at least she has a hand to hold. She think she'd be ok as long as his fingers never leave her own.