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Days Forgotten pt. 2
He stared out from the 6th floor window as the shadows of the night before burned away, and sat down in his chair. The air was fresher than it had been for days, and it made him feel hopeful. "Maybe the ash clouds are gonna leave us alone for a bit," He said thoughtfully, sipping at the bitter but physically satisfying coffee as his other two feline companions emerged from their place in the corner to greet their human.
He spoke a few soft, sweet words to each of them, and smiled as they vocalized their presence. He reached into his pack for a bit of the dried fish he kept, mixing and mashing it with a some of the water, and setting it before them as they all circled, eager for their morning feast.
"You guys eat up, Papa's got work to do," he said, slipping his boots on and making his way to the roof access ladder, "No fighting while I'm gone," he joked, smiling as he ascended. He reached the hatch and threw loose the lever, pushing up on the door and opening his eyes to the sky. He pulled himself up, and stood on top of his small world. He reached into his jacket and pulled out his pipe, filling it with tobacco and a bit of hashish. He savored a toke as his still tired eyes began to adjust.
Feeling the relaxation begin to set in, he walked towards his lookout station, and took up his place behind the lenses of the binocular stand, surveying the blasted landscape of the city he now claimed as home. The collapsed roofs, the shells of the buildings that were once homes and businesses, shops and factories long forgotten, abandoned, some before the wars, the rest long after. He practiced this lonely ritual every morning even though the only signs of life he had seen for the past few years besides himself and the cats had been the fish in the streams behind the old factory, the occasional rat, and the lonely messenger pigeons who kept flying their routes back and forth, even though it seemed there were no more destinations left for the messages they were meant to carry.
He didn't mind the isolation so much, the loneliness got easier over time, and he was a logical man. He knew very well that he may be one of the only ones left, it had been years since the last refugees had passed by his station, but he had to keep whatever beacon burning that he could just in case he wasn't the only person who thought himself alone.
He had seen a bit of smoke in the western sky a few days ago, but it hadn't been close enough for him to verify the source, today he knew better.
A few hundred yards away, he could clearly see a small camp, and a blonde haired man sitting by his own cooking fire, a rifle at his side, a small tent to his back, and a pot set to boil. More than likely some kind of porridge, or wild vegetables. Meat was scarce these days, and the stranger had been traveling from the opposite direction of the river, towards it rather than from it, and so it was doubtful that he had any fish to add to his meal.
He took another pull from his pipe, and reached over to the weatherproof control panel beside him, typing in the code for the beacon siren and activating it.
The quiet morning air was silenced by the long, peircing wail that anyone who survived the wars would recognize as a call to sanctuary, and he glanced through the eyes of the binocular stand again.
He could see the stranger lift his head towards the source, and raise his right arm in greeting, motioning with his left hand towards his own fire as if to say 'After breakfast'.
He leaned back, switched off the siren, and threw the lever for the beacon light. Finishing his pipe, he made his way back down the ladder, and readied himself for the day.
*Note: I made a mistake, and accidentally deleted half of this while posting it the first time, may God bless and protect all of us frustrated writers lol.
© DDLX
He spoke a few soft, sweet words to each of them, and smiled as they vocalized their presence. He reached into his pack for a bit of the dried fish he kept, mixing and mashing it with a some of the water, and setting it before them as they all circled, eager for their morning feast.
"You guys eat up, Papa's got work to do," he said, slipping his boots on and making his way to the roof access ladder, "No fighting while I'm gone," he joked, smiling as he ascended. He reached the hatch and threw loose the lever, pushing up on the door and opening his eyes to the sky. He pulled himself up, and stood on top of his small world. He reached into his jacket and pulled out his pipe, filling it with tobacco and a bit of hashish. He savored a toke as his still tired eyes began to adjust.
Feeling the relaxation begin to set in, he walked towards his lookout station, and took up his place behind the lenses of the binocular stand, surveying the blasted landscape of the city he now claimed as home. The collapsed roofs, the shells of the buildings that were once homes and businesses, shops and factories long forgotten, abandoned, some before the wars, the rest long after. He practiced this lonely ritual every morning even though the only signs of life he had seen for the past few years besides himself and the cats had been the fish in the streams behind the old factory, the occasional rat, and the lonely messenger pigeons who kept flying their routes back and forth, even though it seemed there were no more destinations left for the messages they were meant to carry.
He didn't mind the isolation so much, the loneliness got easier over time, and he was a logical man. He knew very well that he may be one of the only ones left, it had been years since the last refugees had passed by his station, but he had to keep whatever beacon burning that he could just in case he wasn't the only person who thought himself alone.
He had seen a bit of smoke in the western sky a few days ago, but it hadn't been close enough for him to verify the source, today he knew better.
A few hundred yards away, he could clearly see a small camp, and a blonde haired man sitting by his own cooking fire, a rifle at his side, a small tent to his back, and a pot set to boil. More than likely some kind of porridge, or wild vegetables. Meat was scarce these days, and the stranger had been traveling from the opposite direction of the river, towards it rather than from it, and so it was doubtful that he had any fish to add to his meal.
He took another pull from his pipe, and reached over to the weatherproof control panel beside him, typing in the code for the beacon siren and activating it.
The quiet morning air was silenced by the long, peircing wail that anyone who survived the wars would recognize as a call to sanctuary, and he glanced through the eyes of the binocular stand again.
He could see the stranger lift his head towards the source, and raise his right arm in greeting, motioning with his left hand towards his own fire as if to say 'After breakfast'.
He leaned back, switched off the siren, and threw the lever for the beacon light. Finishing his pipe, he made his way back down the ladder, and readied himself for the day.
*Note: I made a mistake, and accidentally deleted half of this while posting it the first time, may God bless and protect all of us frustrated writers lol.
© DDLX
