HOME
I want to go home.
But I can’t.
It doesn’t exist.
I haven’t had a home in years. When the United States had accrued enough debt it could never repay, those countries came for us. They intended to take our resources in exchange. They took over our farms, and factories, and reserves. That’s how it began anyway. Once it became apparent we didn’t have trillions in tradable goods, they started taking people. They knocked out our power grid. Mass hysteria erupted when everyone’s smart technologies stopped working. Everyone was horribly unprepared. I still don’t know what became of those they took. I can only assume they are manually working off America’s debt.
When I first escaped into the woods near my home, there were plenty of us. Now I’m lucky to run into someone every few months. I was lucky to have grown up in a family who loved the outdoors. I know how to use a compass, and I know how to hunt. I owe my survival to it.
The first year I would go to the edge of the tree lines to see if ‘they’ were still here. I was hoping to raid some of the homes on the outskirts for clean water and canned food. I was tired of drinking brown water from lakes. Catching fish in the beginning was an adventure in itself. Now I can barely taste it.
But, I gave up hope that they were leaving after that year. From what I could cipher, they weren’t recolonizing the country. It looked more like they were using it as a stronghold. Without modes of communication, there was really no way of knowing what they were up to. So, I’m a nomad now, traveling the countryside according to the season.
My ear perks up to a strange sound in the distance.
HIDE.
My instincts take over as I run flat out to a dense thicket of trees. I duck behind a large rock and try to catch my breath. Peering over the top of it, I can see the sound isn’t coming from the ground. My eyes rove upwards, and I can see the branches from distant trees are swaying. The sound is getting louder. Leaves are getting kicked up from the ground. Whatever it is, it’s flying low and coming closer.
My eyes see her before I hear screams. The loud engine overhead is chasing her. I can barely make out the blades through the dense foliage above me.
Helicopter.
This is it. The moment of truth. Do I catch her attention and hide her with me- carrying the chance that they will find our hiding spot? Or let her run until inevitably her legs or lungs give out, and she is captured?
She is running so fast she nearly trips from her pace. She is approaching quickly and is almost to my hiding position. Do I reach out to her? My heart is pounding in my ears. This is it. I quickly-
But I can’t.
It doesn’t exist.
I haven’t had a home in years. When the United States had accrued enough debt it could never repay, those countries came for us. They intended to take our resources in exchange. They took over our farms, and factories, and reserves. That’s how it began anyway. Once it became apparent we didn’t have trillions in tradable goods, they started taking people. They knocked out our power grid. Mass hysteria erupted when everyone’s smart technologies stopped working. Everyone was horribly unprepared. I still don’t know what became of those they took. I can only assume they are manually working off America’s debt.
When I first escaped into the woods near my home, there were plenty of us. Now I’m lucky to run into someone every few months. I was lucky to have grown up in a family who loved the outdoors. I know how to use a compass, and I know how to hunt. I owe my survival to it.
The first year I would go to the edge of the tree lines to see if ‘they’ were still here. I was hoping to raid some of the homes on the outskirts for clean water and canned food. I was tired of drinking brown water from lakes. Catching fish in the beginning was an adventure in itself. Now I can barely taste it.
But, I gave up hope that they were leaving after that year. From what I could cipher, they weren’t recolonizing the country. It looked more like they were using it as a stronghold. Without modes of communication, there was really no way of knowing what they were up to. So, I’m a nomad now, traveling the countryside according to the season.
My ear perks up to a strange sound in the distance.
HIDE.
My instincts take over as I run flat out to a dense thicket of trees. I duck behind a large rock and try to catch my breath. Peering over the top of it, I can see the sound isn’t coming from the ground. My eyes rove upwards, and I can see the branches from distant trees are swaying. The sound is getting louder. Leaves are getting kicked up from the ground. Whatever it is, it’s flying low and coming closer.
My eyes see her before I hear screams. The loud engine overhead is chasing her. I can barely make out the blades through the dense foliage above me.
Helicopter.
This is it. The moment of truth. Do I catch her attention and hide her with me- carrying the chance that they will find our hiding spot? Or let her run until inevitably her legs or lungs give out, and she is captured?
She is running so fast she nearly trips from her pace. She is approaching quickly and is almost to my hiding position. Do I reach out to her? My heart is pounding in my ears. This is it. I quickly-