Aftermath
“Romanticize your life, they said,” you grumbled under your breath. “It’ll be fun, they said, it’ll help you move on! Chipper bastards.”
You passed the pail of water from one aching hand to the other, who would have thought that romanticizing your life would include hauling water uphill like you were in the 1600s? Really striving for the cottagecore lifestyle apparently. your small cabin in the woods was fine, but with the power out, the water followed suit. Despite its age, the well pump still needed electricity to run, and being so far away from a decently sized town meant fetching a pail of water from the lake was your life now, for who knew how long.
When The Blip happened, “who knew for how long” became the answer for everything. Some thought it would be just a few more days, some thought forever. There are those with hope and those without. Nobody knew if this was fixable, half our heroes are gone, and those that remain gave up hope. If they could give up hope, who was to say you couldn’t? You had lost everyone, your family, best friends, you had nobody left. After the world started to pick up the pieces and feign normalcy, you couldn’t let it go. The anger and sadness built up until you had stopped everything. Quitting university was the first step, then losing your barista job, there wasn’t a semblance of normal left. Your world was an open, festering wound.
Hell, the only reason you weren’t homeless was because you could stay in your mom’s old house. She had just paid off the mortgage a few months before she was dusted. The irony hung heavy in your thoughts. It was strange, living in your childhood house again, but it felt nothing like home without her. The silence in that house became unbearable, and your sobs could be heard throughout the neighborhood at night. Her neighbor encouraged you to see a therapist, to get help. Even gave you a flier for group therapy focused on dealing with the aftermath of The Blip.
Reluctantly, you gave it a shot. Did it help? No, not really. But did it get you here? Yeah. With encouragement to get a fresh start, you found yourself leaving what little remained behind in favor of a more private sanctuary. What little money you had was spent making your way to a tiny cabin, miles outside of Skåbu, Norway. The wooden house was cozy, with small rooms, a fireplace, porch, and room for a garden outside. Grass covered the roof, and the surrounding trees provided plenty of shade from the summer sun. While the weather was colder than your home in the states, August was still tolerable with the bright sunshine peppered through the trees. Besides, you’d rather be cold than hot anyway. At least if you’re cold you can bundle up with blankets, start a fire, or cuddle. In the sweltering heat of the typical 80+ degree days in a standard American summer, what were you supposed to do? Rip your skin off? You could only cool off so many ways, and when they didn’t work then oh well, better suffer through it. The weather was reason 308 why you chose Norway of all places. Memories of being snuggled up in your Mom’s lap with your siblings one Christmas Eve came flooding back. The other reasons for your choice included being as far from the memories as you could be.
Cresting the hill, you could see the dark wood of your home. It was weird to think of it as home, it had only been a few months since The Blip, but this was your world now. At least being alone here was more peaceful than being alone and surrounded by people. Your tired arms ached while you hiked to the top of the hill. Once your head bobbed high enough that you could see your door, ice ran through your veins.
Feet locked in place, you peered up at the man standing on your porch. Hands behind his back, like had been waiting for you to answer the door. He reached up to knock and scoffed when you again didn’t answer. He flipped back his dark, shoulder-length waves as he turned away from the door.
His cold stare reached your frozen gaze, “Hello, neighbor.”
The man’s voice startled you out of your stupor, the bucket slipping from your hands and soaking your boots and jeans. “Ah, fuck.”