Daylight

I ran out of water.

       My kid was poking at my bag, but I couldn’t hear what he was shouting at me. I crawled towards it and sat against the chilly damp wall. I tore off some bread for him, left the rest for dinner. Every meal was lunch. Days were endless.

       The walls looked pale grey under the flickering florescent light. The air as well. It was getting thinner. I couldn’t tell if it was night or day. I dusted off my phone, struggling to get a signal. Useless.

       The only thing I recalled from that day was the rain, that I couldn’t believe we outlasted the drought. I fetched a pot and placed it under the dripping ceiling, and I guess this was it for the remaining days. We were or would be forgotten, eventually.

       Yet we were optimistic. The sound of gas turbines hadn’t settled down before we attempted once more to turn the valve of the hatch. I guess it was the rain mixed with dirt that sealed it tight. I laid down again, hoping that sleep would conserve my energy. It was another afternoon nap.

       […]

       Wait… daylight? Was the hatch open?

       “C’mon son, let’s go.”

       But there was nothing waiting for us. I stood still. I don’t recall that I have ever lived in the middle of nowhere. The smokey air was filled with flying ashes, or whatever it was. I was awkwardly free, at least I thought so. I heard nothing, not even a bird’s chirp nor a wind’s blow.

       “Daddy, I wanna go home,” was my son’s sole request.

       I still had no drink nor anything more than crumbs of bread. We wandered around. I couldn’t tell if it was once a street. I saw nothing but a strange banner. There was nothing alive in sight. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone but saw an unfamiliar date that belongs to the next decade. How could I not recognize this place?

       Lighting up the soil was the silhouette of the sun through hazy clouds, so I was right about having lunch. I tried to dig through my memory for the route back home, but it had simply been too long. I couldn’t find anything nor anyone who could give me directions.

       I started pacing around, murmuring incoherently to myself. For an impulsive second, I wanted to sprint into the unknown. In the distance I saw a figure that I didn’t recognize. That was the first living man I’ve seen since climbing out of the hatch. Overjoyed, I didn’t realize my son was no longer with me.

       I approached the man, but for a second I was shocked. He looked so familiar but strange.

       “Dad,” he said to me, “welcome home.” But there was no home.

       “Behind me,” he said. So I stretched my neck and saw a vague square of a ruined stone wall, barely a naked concrete bar poking out of the ground.

       “Where’s home?” I asked him curiously.

       “Right here. Me, you, and mom. Remember? She came home late that night.”

       I realized those stones were home. I tried to recall what happened. I slid down to the cold dirt, screaming and cursing, tears bursting, blinding my sight.

       […]

       My eyes opened to embrace a new yet old day.

       Turning my head, I saw everyone fighting over my pot. I was too weak to say anything.

       I was still out of water.