IS Anyone there?

She’s beginning to wonder. What’s the point of surviving if you only end up alone at the end of the world?

The woman is in a cave. Tall but not wide. Lit by a quarter jar of wax and wick. A wall of rubble at one end and sheet metal covering the entrance that hasn’t been opened since her radio worked. 

The radio. She turns the dial. Red paint rubbed silver. 

Static. 

She checks her backpack inventory. One dead cellphone. Matches. Elmo first aid kit. A folded-up piece of paper with a crayon circle that kind of looks like a dog and a few lines that kind of look like a child. In the lefthand pocket is a blue sharpie marker. Today’s tick mark joins the wall of others, the pale blue streak much lighter than the azure cap. 

…Temperatures on the rise…best stay inside…

It was just the two of them, and the dog. But small lungs just aren’t big enough to handle whatever is in the air. The sharpie clicks shut. She tries the radio dial again. 

Static. 

There are thirty-six cans of pinto beans left. Ten of Star Wars chicken noodle, but the storm trooper-clad label is flaking off, uncovering washboard silver. She picks the beans and peels back the lid. Melodic metal against metal fills her small dusty amphitheater. For a moment she remembers the hurried brush of her fork against a blue plastic plate. They were late for a dance recital. It was carrots on the plate, rejected by their original owner. Dinner was dinner, especially on a night when they only had time for canned carrots and some leftover mac and cheese. She had thought then that she was unhappy. 

…Dust storm…FEMA declares…take what you can…

Half a can left, rendered unappetizing. She puts it aside and lays down. The respirator mask peels off like a second skin, revealing a mapwork of impressions on her face. The dimming candle casts flickering stars on the makeshift sky above. 

…Mama I don’t feel good…

She breathes deep, inhaling what’s left of the air. 

Hot wax douses the candle. A chill brushes her skin. She coughs. Somewhere someone is singing. Singing? A Jack Stauber tune from her childhood. 

Is anyone there?

Hands clutch the radio. It’s time to put the mask back on.

About the Author

Jewel is a Junior Media and Communications student with a concentration in multimedia publishing and a minor in Creative Writing. Despite being a comms major, she is passionate about exploring all things writing and photography, and tries to incorporate both in her study. In her free time, she enjoys taking walks (preferably ones where she can look at trees), going on adventures with her friends, and spending time with her dog. She likes to think that if someone feels like they're alone at the end of the world, they should choose to keep going.