SeaMail



  SeaMail

  by Robert Tidwell

  Copyright 2014 Robert Tidwell

  Please visit the author's webpage: roberttidwell.tumblr.com

  The strangest thing had happened long ago when men had been the kings of the Earth. They abused Her. They neglected Her. They bled Her dry. They pumped Her full of poisons. They carved into Her skin with their machines with out ever consulting the living planet. In truth, they nearly killed Her but you see, living things fight for their lives. It is part of why anything alive can survive. The Earth decided it no longer liked being abused and struck back. Evolution spun out of control and men and women both took on new traits in order to survive. The men almost completely regressed back to the earliest stages of Man. The fear of extinction pushed them into their most basic and primal functions. Eat. Drink. Fight. Fuck. They often killed each other over misunderstandings about territory and possession, so, other than the size of such fights, nothing had changed for the men. It was the women who had been key to the next evolutionary step and it was the women who saw the greatest of all changes.

  The grey woman, Maria, found that her foggy skin could actually change color, just slight tints really, if she concentrated hard enough or if she felt an emotion passionately enough. Another woman found that she had begun growing feathers instead of hair, though she still couldn't fly. She had been killed shortly after by a gang of men. Other changes were less dramatic and only featured slight shape differences in the noses, eyes, ears, fingers, toes and so on. Some women looked perfectly normal but had developed incredible strength. There was one woman, alone on an island, who had developed something altogether different.

  "Their fires are strong tonight," Maria said to herself. "Probably something from the ocean came up on shore. I never thought to look for meat on the beach."

  Maria knew that she must keep talking, even if she only spoke to herself. She feared the loss of language. It was next to impossible to trade with the men, but she found that if she covered her skin completely and kept talking to a minimum, she could get what she needed.

  A soft breeze blew past the woman with tangled orange hair and reminded her that winter was fast approaching; it was going to start getting colder every night.

  Maria headed into her temporary home and began to pack for the long night's journey. Traveling at night had proven to be more secure than in the day because it was easier to hide. She deliberated over each item as she slid them into her bag. First, a small bottle of distilled water that she had been saving. Next, several cans of beans which she'd received in a trade with a yellow haired man, built big and burley, mean looking and about as ugly as he could get. Maria traded away her flashlight to get the canned food and realized now that a flashlight would be good to have with her, though the batteries had gone dead and she never knew if she would find more.

  After the food was securely in place Maria inserted a metal lighter she had found in the driver's seat of her home. Home, by the way, was a rusted, tangled metal thing which had once been somebody's mode of transportation. Maria never could get the automobile to start, but the frame was strong and it still had all of its windows so it would protect her from the weather.

  The leather was cracked and dried but all in all it had been a good home for a few weeks. The car had been abandoned and was stuck in the middle of Sunset Boulevard. The neighboring cars had been looted bare, it was a wonder that even one car was left intact. Maria found that it often took some work to get in and out of the car, she cut herself on the broken windows of the other cars as she climbed over and through the metallic labyrinth and Maria grew tired of sleeping behind the clear glass windows. She had been far too visible while she slept. Visible meant vulnerable. Vulnerable meant raped, enslaved or dead.

  Maria made sure to include some forks, a bowl, a book of her favorite poems and of course the sleeping bag. The fear of not being able to find a new home had scared Maria to the core but the smoke that hung in the air was a promising call.

  Wind whistled as it blew up the avenues, between the dilapidated buildings and off in the distance Maria believed she heard a soft, rhythmic drumming.

  After eating a small meal of canned ham, canned corn and canned milk, Maria began her arduous trek, heading south along the paved road. The hard concrete slabs that lined the sides of the road had cracked with age and now resemble the face of an aged man who had lived too long in the sun. Deep crevices and folds made walking difficult but Maria had told herself she would continue until her feet ached and she could already taste salt in the air.

  More cars lined the street, left behind in desperation when they ran out of gas. Maria peered into each car hoping for food or perhaps some new and useful tool, but nothing seemed appropriate.

  Maria had spent only thirty two years in Los Angeles, thirty two years isn't that long, true, but for Maria it had literally been a life time and she felt confident that she knew the area well.

  After several hours, Maria could see the shoreline on the horizon. The sun was still a few hours from rising. Maria was exhausted so she hiked the beach looking for a suitable place to sleep. It was dark where she had walked, miles from the bonfires and ritual drumming, so hunting was difficult and frustrating.

  At the top of the beach there were cement buildings which had once been changing rooms, showers and some sort of eatery. She set her bags down in a section that still had most of its walls and cleared an area to lay. She spread her sleeping bag out on the floor and used her bomber jacket as a pillow. She slept like shit, of course, but that was never anything new. The car had been soft inside, at least, this place offered less comfort but more security.

  Maria woke the next evening and began to clear away the rubble. She used the dry rubble from the buildings to build a fire pit in the sand outside though she doubted that she would find wood. She went back inside and ate a can of cold beans. Maria picked up a large piece of rubble to smash the top of the can open.

  "Fucking shit!" Her skin went purple, except where her blood splattered.

  Beans taste like hell cold, but she hadn't found enough wood to make a fire, yet. She would, she decided, she would tonight.

  The sun was setting and Maria still hadn't found enough wood to make a fire. Maria saw, then as she was about to give up, a dying sapling that had sprouted in an unfortunate place. It was dry and brown and ugly and perfect.

  Maria tried to break the thickest of the young dead things branches but it proved too strong. She tried another. It took a few tries and on the fourth branch she heard a snap. There was no way this branch would make a fire but it might keep a flame by which to see. The branch she held in her hand would be a little small and probably wouldn't last long as a torch but it was her best option right then, so she made her way back through the soft sand and to her home.

  Using her lighter, she lit her branch and gave birth to a strong and beautiful flame. It would definitely not last very long at all. Maria began to hunt for dead fish, hoping to spot something floating on the surface of the undrinkable water. The reds and yellows glistened off the water and in the distance Maria saw something floating. It reflected a dull brown color and was definitely not meat. Maria decided to swim out and rescue it. It might have proved useful. It was, after all, a glass bottle that was sealed air tight, it could transform into another bottle of clean water.

  Maria planted the torch at the top of the shoreline, and removed her clothes. It wasn't smart to be naked. Naked means vulnerable and Maria knew it wasn't good to give the men any encouragement. You never knew who was hiding in the shadows and being raped is an awful experience. After the first time Maria swore she would never be so stupid again. So much for promises.

  Maria waded out as far as she could, nude and in the firelight, she watched her own ref
lection dance in the water and wondered what God must look like, an odd thought for an atheist. The water was ice cold and swelled with every wave. When the tide was coming in, the water was up to her mid-thigh but when it pulled away it was only at knee level. This meant that she was constantly being reminded just how cold it was. Maria shivered more thoroughly than she ever had before and continued to walk forward. By the time the water had reached her abdomen, Maria bent her knees and let the water envelope her up to the shoulders and paddled her icy skin towards the deep blackness.

  Lucky for Maria, the waves never broke over her. They had been swells and nothing more. Small hills in the cold water. Maria grabbed the glass bottle and brought herself back to shore.

  Her body shook and trembled. Sand stuck to her wet naked flesh and Maria hoped the torch would be enough fire to dry her skin. After several terrifying minutes this became incredibly frustrating. Sitting, naked and open, in front of a fire on a twig, on the beach, with the sun about to rise, served no purpose. Nobody had spotted Maria yet so she decided to take her torch and walk home