by Ceinwen E. Cariad Haydon
This is how it happened, how my sister became everything to me.
It was winter, all day we’d searched for food. Outside one blown-out building we’d seen a dented fridge. Dad prised the door open, inside we found lumps of rot in pools of slime.
On the ground next to it, young dandelions pushed up and split the hard earth. We sucked one leaf each and left the rest of the plant to grow, a food source to return to.
We were tired out, all three of us. We didn’t see him until he was almost on top of us. A man attired in the uniform of the New Army.
“Come with me,” said the officer.
“By what order?” said my father.
“That’s no matter. I have authority. Come.”
“Of course. Do you intend to take us outside the city walls, Sir?”
I flinched at the craven look on our father’s face. I couldn’t understand what had happened to him, he had been so strong once.
“Maybe. Get going. Now.”
“Are you sure? We never go there,” said Dad.
“Who’s we,” said my older sister, Bella.
“The family, us.”
“There is no we, no us,” said Bella. “The war changed all that.”
Bella knew many things I did not. She stepped in when Dad lost his way, went to pieces, That happened often these days.
“Shut up. Shut up, all of you. Come with me,” said the officer.
“Who gave you the say-so?” said my father, again.
“For me to know, you to wonder.”
“Will you help us?” I asked.
“You will be saved, saved to contribute,” he said. His eyes narrowed.
Wee soaked my trousers, my cheeks flared, and I looked down at the
ground.
“Saved from what?” said Bella. “Everywhere is the same now.”
“Not quite.”
“How exactly will we be saved?” she persisted.
“The rules have changed.”
“The rules always change, officer,” she said.
“This time, it’s for real.”
The man looked her up and down. Bella spat on the dusty ground.
“Dad, don’t go, Please. We can take care of ourselves,” said Bella. She
took my hand and held it tight. “Dad, we are staying, whatever you do.”
My shirt stuck to my back and Bella’s nails dug into my skin.
“Dad,” I said. “Is Mum there?”
“Mum’s dead,” said Bella.
“That’s a lie,” said Dad. “We will find her. We’d best go with the man, like he said. Likely, we’ll find her.”
“See, Bella,” I said. “It’ll be alright. Mum’s coming back.”
“Hold on, bairn” said the officer. “I never said…”
“Too late,” said Dad. “You’ve raised hopes.”
“Not mine,” said Bella. “The child stays with me.”
I felt the force in her arm.
“It?s just me, then,” said Dad.
“Come on,” said the stranger.
The officer turned on his heel and Dad limped off after him, into the night.
The air smelt of hung meat.
“Come with me, Gracie,” said Bella.
We staggered back into the old quarter. Yellow fog swallowed us deep into its
acrid craw. I remembered Mum’s hacking cough.
Ceinwen writes short stories and poetry. She is widely published in web magazines and in print anthologies. Her first chapbook was published in July 2019: ‘Cerddi Bach’ [Little Poems], a Stickleback by Hedgehog Press. She was a winner in the Nicely Folded Paper Pamphlet Competition July 2019 and her first pamphlet is due to be published 2019/20. She has an MA in Creative Writing from Newcastle University, UK (2017). She believes everyone’s voice counts. On Twitter @CeinwenHaydon.
