Short story that I wrote a few years ago. Be nice about it.
As the sulfuric air filled my
lungs, I clambered up the soot-covered hill. Struggling to get to fresh air, I
adjusted my heavy pack and tried to take in the least amount of the smoky air
that I could. But as I tried to trudge up the hill, I couldn’t resist the
temptation to turn back and look at my former home.
The sky was
dark with smoke, ashes raining down on the ground. The dirt and grass that had
once existed had disappeared completely, blanketed by the layers of the ashes.
The factories could be seen everywhere, polluting the air with poisonous gases.
Attacking without mercy, the factories had deprived the air of oxygen like a
vacuum, clearing out all living things from the fields of soot. This hill had
once overlooked the bright and fresh wheat fields of the country just ten years
ago. But now, the pollution was killing off living objects slowly but surely.
If only we had chosen nature over machines.
Coughing
out ash, I knew that I wanted to leave the factories, but I hesitated. It was
because the place was my home place. Though covered by the smog and smoke, this
place still had a cemetery, and I wasn’t willing to leave my family’s ashes and
all my belongings. The only reason I had stayed next to the factories and
applied as a factory worker was to stay and pay my respects to my parents when
I could. Also, the farmhouse I lived in had been the home of my ancestors and
contained many family heirlooms that I couldn’t carry with me. And what
guarantee was there that I wouldn’t face worse when I traveled away from the
factories? Now that I thought about it, I knew that there was no guarantee at
all. We knew little about the outside world.
As the
smoke and pollution kept on billowing out from the tops of the factories, I
knew that I would soon die from the smoke. A year ago, I had heard that the
government had to produce artificial air for the smog-filled cities. Was that
kind of life enough to leave my hometown, as bad as it was?
Leaving
this squalid, wasted place involved lots of risk, maybe even too much. Others
had already tried to leave these factories. They were never heard from again.
The choice to stay in this polluted town filled with smoke guaranteed a death,
but at least I would be able to meet my death the same way as everyone else in
the town had. Perhaps I was too ambitious and greedy to expect a green
countryside that probably wasn’t there.
But I knew
what my family made me promise to do – to leave the town and go somewhere safer
and fresher and not meet the same demise as they had. However, I would be going
alone through the wall of smog that surrounded the factories. The outside world
was unknown to me and I would have no sense of direction. Filled with
pessimism, I couldn’t seem to leave the town despite my wishes, but I also
couldn’t seem to be able to stay in this wasteland. Overcome with frustration
and anger, I felt as if I was a scale, perfectly balanced, unable to tip to neither
one side nor the other.
Calming
myself down, I tried to think of which would benefit me the most. It felt
selfish, but now that I had no one to be unselfish about, I thought a selfish
feeling was okay. Leaving the town would probably result in a lonely death, and
even if I didn’t die, I would forever be without companionship and most of my
belongings. And here, at least the factories provided stale, plastic-like,
artificial food. If I left and managed to find non-polluted places, I would
probably starve to death.
But then, I remembered my parents’
last wishes. My other siblings, being nothing but toddlers, had died from the
smoke. By the time that my parents had decided to quit grieving and leave, it
was already too late. The gas masks, though they helped for a while, soon wore
out, the filters being permanently polluted. Being the last one alive due to a
stronger mask, my parents ordered me to go to the countryside, whatever the
cost, and I didn’t have much to lose. They had given me a small, framed
painting. It showed a picture of the green grass and plants. I doubted that it still existed.
As my two
sides debated furiously in my mind, I pulled out the painting. It was the only
thing that wasn’t a necessity in my pack. The painting had patches of green and
a blue lake. I hadn’t seen a lake or even a hint of green for at least five
years.
I had made
my decision. Turning around, I left my troubles and walked into a new land.
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