How the World Ended Twice

Ever since the world ended, Jamon hill was my favourite place to relax. From its high vantage point, I could see over the towering, highly guarded stone wall that was constructed decades ago to shield the town from outsiders, but now protected us from the vast wastelands and fallout of the rest of the world. I was unsure if it was guilt or gratefulness that made me struggle up that precipitous hill every day, but I felt like I needed to see the disaster outside. Where once stood soaring skyscrapers now lay heaps of ashes the size of a modest home. The massive bridge that connected us over the water to the rest of the world stopped halfway. The great fields and parks that once surrounded the town that I would spend a great portion of my childhood playing with friends in, was now a playpark for the terrifying creatures born of the catastrophe, and who stalked the perimeter of the town, lying in wait for stray humans to sate their curiosity and wander beyond the wall. The creatures were spindly and almost as if trees and humans had been blended together and burned to a crisp. I missed the colours of nature. Green was now grey. Light blue was now deep purple. Brown was now black.

Before it happened, our leaders warned us of the incoming shadow bomb that was to be dropped on us from an enemy we knew nothing about. They accepted that most people were going to die, but their goal was for as many people as possible to survive in the massive bunker built beneath the unassuming town of Lundi. Well, those who could afford to survive anyway: entry to the bunker had a price steeper than Jamon hill.

I was lucky. My parents could afford to get us in. The bunker was big enough to fit in hundreds more, but only the richest could afford to live. Not even most of the original inhabitants of this town could. But we could. And that pained me. Watching the people being ripped from their humble homes by those who lived in luxury and forced out into their impending doom haunts me to this day. But I was only a child who wanted to survive. Even the sturdy walls of the bunker could not stop me from hearing the screams. My friends, my teachers, that sweet old lady down the street who would give me sweets, gone. And I swear I could hear each of their individual last cries for help.

Now all I could do is look out onto the wastelands for ghosts of the past.

Our leaders assured us that we were the only people to survive in the entire world. They prided themselves on that fact. But they warned that the creatures outside were ravenous, desperate to break into the town, and willing to kill anyone who leaves, so for our own safety we should not try to leave. Instead, our goal was to rebuild our fortified town, and slowly reclaim our land. Work was debilitating. Everyone put in so much effort every day for little food and no pay to get our lives back. Though most of our work involved creating weapons and bombs to help with our defence. My hour alone on the hill was the only time of the day I looked forward to.

While watching out on the horizon, I noticed something floating towards me from beyond the wall. As it came closer, I recognised the familiar shape of a balloon with a small box tied to its string. My legs acted faster than my confused brain. I jumped to my feet and climbed the large tree that stood firmly at the top of the hill. I stretched out as far as I could, but the balloon was way too high. I took out my slingshot, waited until the balloon was above me, and shot a few times until eventually it burst, and plummeted towards me. I grabbed hold of the deflated balloon and guided it down to the ground and I sat with it to get a closer look. I pieced together the shattered rubber to read the message on the balloon: “Happy 8th Birthday”. The box had a card attached to it, with “To Mika” written on the front.

I am not Mika. I don’t know a Mika, but I did want to know what this was and where it came from. Was it a trap?

I opened the box, feeling some distant excitement from the last time I ever experienced a birthday, and found a beautifully wrapped heart-shaped locket within. The outside of the locket had the letter M engraved. M for Mika, I would guess. I carefully picked open the locket to see a photo of a man and a woman holding a toddler. Both the toddler and the woman had distinguishable, bright, red, curly, ringlet hair. I decided to open the card to see if it could make things clearer.

It read:

“Note #20

We don’t know if anyone is getting our notes, but we will preserver until your people are free. We don’t know how much you all know. We were one of you once. We lived in Lundi. When our leaders told us all about the world ending, we were devastated. We couldn’t afford to get us all into the bunker, but we threw all of our life savings in to “save” our 3 year old daughter by leaving her there with a family in the bunker. We headed west as far as possible, hoping to die with our extended family, only to get there and realise that the world was not under threat by shadowy creatures, but only the local area was under threat by power hungry monsters we consider human.

Your leaders cut off all access to the outside world after they were caught creating shadow bombs, and we no longer have any idea what is going on there. They bombed the surrounding areas of your town, entrapped you in their little bubble, and told you that the world outside is gone. But that is not true. The rest of the world is alive, thriving, and praying for your safety. Please spread this message to as many people as possible and stop the creation of these heinous bombs before they actually do destroy the world.

This is the fifth year in a row that we are sending a gift to our daughter. Please, if you find this, please give it to her if she is still alive.

To Mika,

We love you darling and I hope we can be reunited soon. But most of all I hope that you are healthy and happy.

Happy Birthday.

Mum and Dad xoxo

And just like that, my world ended for a second time. Or…at least I thought.