Plagued

As I trudged along the worn-down dirt path in front of me I remembered the feelings I had as a child leaving my little league baseball games. I always had a sense of accomplishment no matter whether I won or lost. But, the strongest feeling that came over me was relief. I worried a lot as a kid. I felt the constant pressure to do the best even though no one else demanded it from me. I had strong bouts of anxiety regarding the littlest of things like whether the shirt I was wearing was going to affect my performance or, if at the last turn, I made the right decision. I could relax when it was all over, zone out. Those feelings are so fresh in my memory yet miles away from how I feel today. I now understand that those worries never mattered and will never matter. Not only because they are petty but also because the world I once knew as a child has forever changed. 

I have another 5-mile journey down this dirt path on the outskirts of what was once Des Moines, Iowa. Now desolate flatland with no existing government infrastructure. I will pass those baseball fields of my youth, now deserted as well as the abandoned petrol stations, elementary schools, and just about everything else bar a few inhabited camps here and there. There is nothing left to worry about because there is hardly anything left at all.

I’ve taken this same walk more or less every day for the last 6 years. Not because I have to only because it keeps me somewhat sane.  I try to remember as much of life before ‘The Plague‘ as a form of entertainment. I do this in increments of 20 minutes and then the rest of the time I follow the path in front of me, letting my mind wander. I don’t dare divert from the path for fear of contracting a new form of the virus from the small camps around me that will surly kill me slowly and painfully. But then again, that might be better than this. I think human will plays a large part in that debate.

About a mile from my dwelling I see a man… or a woman… in the distance. It’s best to stay about a half a mile away from each camp. Therefore, it is tough to know what you are looking at. I wonder what they are thinking and how they are feeling. It would be nice to have someone to talk to.  It’s been about 5 years since my last contact. When my brother died. He was the last of my 5 siblings to fade away. He would make the walk with me and we would have lots of fun together. We would make up games and dream together. I was more creative and happy with him. But, I’ve learned it’s best not to dwell on the past because it’s done and over with.

I arrive back to my dwelling just as the sun dips below the horizon. I throw a log onto the dying embers and wait for the fire to start again so I will be warm while I sleep. Tomorrow, I will make the walk again.