3 views
A scene from Hope
Hope, the light that never goes out. The light at the end of the tunnel. The match that rekindles our burned out candle. Indeed it truly synonymous to the word light. It fills you with warmth, gives chance to the ones who deserve it and even gives life to the lifeless. Hope intoxicates you with belief, giving faith to the helpless. Maybe, just maybe that’s what we need in this difficult times.
The world has come to this now. Ghost towns, drought lands, landlocked cities. It saddens the heart of the few who care for the former, beautiful, evergreen world that they used to live in. Now out here it’s all about survival. Zantar knew this all too well. She took a turn into another street. Just like the previous it was vaguely empty. A few sketchy looking people hanging around old shacks. A common trade people work in to survive. Zantar stopped in her tracks. She picked up a half empty can and ran a finger around the rim of the can. She brought out an index finger coated in a dark brown syrup like substance. Rather than an expression of disgust on her face, it was a happy one instead. She sealed the can and stuffed it in her satchel. For people like her, they survive by scavenging. Leftovers, heaps of junk. Whatever she needs to survive because this was not the end. She and a fraction of people believe this, that kind of hope is what kept her moving while others stayed down and accepted defeat. Hope only shone a little light all she had to do was see the sunshine. A young newsagent sat on the dirty sidewalk. Newspapers laid on the floor next to her. She appeared shabby and skinny like everyone else. Zantar shook her head in disbelief. She threw a silver coin into a little empty can. The girl raised her head to observe her saviour. A smile appeared on her dirty face. Other people though, need a little motivation.
Zantar climbed down into an old battleship. A place she now called home. She found herself in a beaten up hallway. The lights above her flicker and with the last flicker, it burnt out. This was a situation she was used to, in addition to that, she had been living on the empty ship for years so she was able to navigate her way through it. At the end of the hallway on her left there was the cockpit. The light in there wasn’t bad though it was still flickering. Like any average battleship it had an engineer’s station on her left which now a served as a closet for Zantar and the defense strategy—holding a number of empty oil cans. To her right was the navigator and the end the co-pilot. An aisle separated the four different stations. In the midst of them was the captain’s station. Zantar took a seat on the worn out captain’s chair. Clearly it had seen better days. The control panel served as a desk for her now. To imagine it once blinked with colour and life but just like everything and everyone else, it lost it's colour. She carefully brought out each item in her bag in order not to spill the oil. She had experience in that area but now there’s no use crying over spilled milk, or in this case, oil. Besides, there’s more to cry about than spilled oil. She set the can of oil in front of a picture frame. The picture seemed to catch her attention. She picked it up, staring into the picture dreamily. It was a simple family picture. The mother, father and two children. She and her brother. Stubborn from birth, young Zantar tugged on her younger brother’s hair. A look of unbearable pain on the poor boy's face. This brought a smile to older Zantar. All the picture interpreted was chaos. Even in the background two ship men were yelling their heads off at each other. Somehow this picture always managed to make Zantar smile even on the toughest days. Truly, there’s beauty in chaos. The picture was taken few years ago, forty-eight years ago to be precise. Light sea breeze with an ounce of sunlight. Just the perfect weather to sail. Zantar's mother had requested a family picture to remember the day they left boring old Kerlan city for Brigken city. Young Zantar had just gotten a handful of scolding and her brother wanted it to be unforgettable. Between the childish Bronx cheer he blew at her and the times he stuck his tongue out at her what made her blood boil was the fact that the scolding was not meant for her. It was meant for her brother she was just framed. With the photographer set all that was left was to gather everyone. Just right on time she grabbed her brother by the hair and the picture was taken at that second. Sweet revenge was the accurate title for this masterpiece. A frown appeared on older Zantar’s face. She missed her family dearly. Even the little troublesome munchkin. She sprung off her seat with the thought off seizing the rest of the day. After all there’s no use crying over spilled oil.
©essiestars2022. All rights reserved
The world has come to this now. Ghost towns, drought lands, landlocked cities. It saddens the heart of the few who care for the former, beautiful, evergreen world that they used to live in. Now out here it’s all about survival. Zantar knew this all too well. She took a turn into another street. Just like the previous it was vaguely empty. A few sketchy looking people hanging around old shacks. A common trade people work in to survive. Zantar stopped in her tracks. She picked up a half empty can and ran a finger around the rim of the can. She brought out an index finger coated in a dark brown syrup like substance. Rather than an expression of disgust on her face, it was a happy one instead. She sealed the can and stuffed it in her satchel. For people like her, they survive by scavenging. Leftovers, heaps of junk. Whatever she needs to survive because this was not the end. She and a fraction of people believe this, that kind of hope is what kept her moving while others stayed down and accepted defeat. Hope only shone a little light all she had to do was see the sunshine. A young newsagent sat on the dirty sidewalk. Newspapers laid on the floor next to her. She appeared shabby and skinny like everyone else. Zantar shook her head in disbelief. She threw a silver coin into a little empty can. The girl raised her head to observe her saviour. A smile appeared on her dirty face. Other people though, need a little motivation.
Zantar climbed down into an old battleship. A place she now called home. She found herself in a beaten up hallway. The lights above her flicker and with the last flicker, it burnt out. This was a situation she was used to, in addition to that, she had been living on the empty ship for years so she was able to navigate her way through it. At the end of the hallway on her left there was the cockpit. The light in there wasn’t bad though it was still flickering. Like any average battleship it had an engineer’s station on her left which now a served as a closet for Zantar and the defense strategy—holding a number of empty oil cans. To her right was the navigator and the end the co-pilot. An aisle separated the four different stations. In the midst of them was the captain’s station. Zantar took a seat on the worn out captain’s chair. Clearly it had seen better days. The control panel served as a desk for her now. To imagine it once blinked with colour and life but just like everything and everyone else, it lost it's colour. She carefully brought out each item in her bag in order not to spill the oil. She had experience in that area but now there’s no use crying over spilled milk, or in this case, oil. Besides, there’s more to cry about than spilled oil. She set the can of oil in front of a picture frame. The picture seemed to catch her attention. She picked it up, staring into the picture dreamily. It was a simple family picture. The mother, father and two children. She and her brother. Stubborn from birth, young Zantar tugged on her younger brother’s hair. A look of unbearable pain on the poor boy's face. This brought a smile to older Zantar. All the picture interpreted was chaos. Even in the background two ship men were yelling their heads off at each other. Somehow this picture always managed to make Zantar smile even on the toughest days. Truly, there’s beauty in chaos. The picture was taken few years ago, forty-eight years ago to be precise. Light sea breeze with an ounce of sunlight. Just the perfect weather to sail. Zantar's mother had requested a family picture to remember the day they left boring old Kerlan city for Brigken city. Young Zantar had just gotten a handful of scolding and her brother wanted it to be unforgettable. Between the childish Bronx cheer he blew at her and the times he stuck his tongue out at her what made her blood boil was the fact that the scolding was not meant for her. It was meant for her brother she was just framed. With the photographer set all that was left was to gather everyone. Just right on time she grabbed her brother by the hair and the picture was taken at that second. Sweet revenge was the accurate title for this masterpiece. A frown appeared on older Zantar’s face. She missed her family dearly. Even the little troublesome munchkin. She sprung off her seat with the thought off seizing the rest of the day. After all there’s no use crying over spilled oil.
©essiestars2022. All rights reserved
Related Stories
