Ever Kept

The metal is cold in my hands. The place in my chest where a heart beats is colder. Do I still have a heart? I have the locket. It's in the shape of a heart. I scoot a bit closer to the fire, squinting at the spear of light reflecting off the locket's polished gold surface. I start to open it, but my eyes cloud. I don't want to see what's inside. I want to see who is inside. I want them here, and seeing the pathetically small picture inside the locket will only serve to remind me that they aren't. In a fit, I yank it away from my neck, snapping the golden chain. I squeeze it so tightly, my knuckles turn white. I can't take it any longer. I flip the locket open, and pull it so close to my face that the glass fogs up from my breath.

She's beautiful. Deep black hair, so shiny it appears to be dusted with silver. Her eyes are just as black, but they radiate such heat that I can feel her gaze.

I can't remember where the picture was taken, but I recall the rest perfectly. Her lips parted to allow passage of the most soothing voice.

"I'm so happy we came here! Isn't it just a lovely day?"

"Yes," I had replied. I close my eyes, trying to relive the moment, desperate to remember where "here" was. But the memory of the backdrop is just as blurred as the background of the little picture.

She had kissed my cheek before I leaned back and snapped the picture.

I open my eyes and refocus them on the locket.

In her arms, she holds our world. Wisps of blonde hair seem to defy gravity. The rest falls like curtains to frame miracle blue eyes. It was a mystery where those eyes came from. Neither side carried the gene as far back as we could trace.

I bought the red shirt he is wearing. It's stained and has a tear on the left shoulder. A little small on him too. But that's his daddy shirt, and I was sure he'd hang onto it until middle school jeers made it too great of an embarrassment.

His smile is infectious, and despite the tears that roll in rivers I feel the corners of my mouth curling to match the curve of his lips.

I imagine it would have been easier to see them die. I would have felt closure, knowing that was the end of it. Maybe, just maybe, I could have moved on. But for me, and for everyone else who's left, there will always be more questions than answers. Where did they go? Are they dead or alive? I know the mantra they encourage us to repeat. They're in a better place, we're the ones in purgatory. Somewhere, my wife and my son are grieving for me. I guess I'm just not an optimist.

It's all there in the forefront of my thoughts and dreams. I see it until I pass out from exhaustion, and then the images that play on my mind's big screen send me upright with cold sweat trickling down my forehead.

A tangerine sun had just slipped below the horizon. Despite a long day in the dreadful heat of midsummer, the atmosphere of the county fair felt like it had been rejuvenated. My son was eating an impossibly large wad of cotton candy, laughing as I teased him about his teeth rotting out. My wife slapped my arm playfully, then turned to the boy and said,

"But your father has a point. Don't forget to brush those teeth before bed."

A clown danced under a yellow and red striped awning, music blaring over a speaker that sounded like it had been attacked with a baseball bat. Fairgoers boisterously pushed and shoved and called to each other, lost in their own little boats amidst a churning sea. It was that perfect kind of night that only seems perfect looking back.

Suddenly, like the preposterous happenings of a dream brought on by fever, a green light flooded the horizon. I could feel a strange heat crawl up my back, over my shoulders, and settle in my chin. A whine, like that of a dentist's drill, bored into my lower teeth, vibrating them until I was sure they would break. I squeezed my wife's hand a little harder, turned to face her as the light spread across the sky and seemed to descend upon us. But she didn’t notice. Not the light, not the noise, not me. I had the feeling of looking into the husk of a cicada. The eyes were hollow and empty, she was unmoving, and unaware. Bile rose in my throat when I realized that my son had the same look. In that second the light was everywhere, engulfing the world like a thick fog. My eyes were open, but my surroundings were being drowned out, my mind robbed of the information. My hand was empty now. I groped for her, desperate to regain her hand, but it was gone, and then so was the light.

The rides still whirled about, the sickly music still played. Of the thousands of people that had been shuffling around only moments before, I could only count ten, including myself. A woman began to cry, then sob, as she called out for her child. A man dropped to his knees and began to pound his fists against the ground. I felt dizzy. My legs wobbled and despite my frantic commands for them to hold me up, they failed me.

From my vantage point, slumped over and about to be sick, I could make out the lights of an approaching vehicle. As it came into the glow of the fair grounds, it revealed itself as a military Humvee. Four men jumped out, all outfitted with gas masks and automatic rifles. They weren't gentle about their business as they began to round us up. I stayed low, hidden for as long as I could. Somehow I knew that running would be a futile venture. They were forcing each person to strip, taking every possession and throwing it into a heap in the grass. Then, naked, the people were shoved roughly into the back of the Humvee. One person resisted, and without warning, one of the soldiers raised his weapon. I closed my eyes a millisecond before the shot rang out. The message was clear. Don't resist. I still hadn't been noticed and there was only one thing I cared to keep. I pulled the locket from my neck, and though I'm too shy to say what happened next, I made sure that it would stay with me and be undiscovered when I was stripped of my clothes and robbed of my belongings.

Our camp consists of three tents with a high barbed wire fence placed tightly around them. We are guarded day and night. The eight other survivors are asleep now, but I don't know how they do it. The guards have agreed to throw me an extra piece of firewood to keep the flames burning. I ask why we are here, I ask where my family is, and all I receive is the look given to an obstinate child.

"You're here for your own safety. To be monitored after exposure to high levels of radiation." Two days later, I pushed the question again. The answer; "we're not sure what happened out there. Unexplained phenomenon."

I let it rest for a week, learning my new environment, and how to best survive it. Inevitably, the question had to be asked again. This time, the answer was shocking. "Everything you remember from before is false. The phenomenon planted those memories. The people and places you remember are not real." My mind screamed. I bit my tongue until the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.

I'm terrified. As I talk in hushed tones to my fellow survivors, they appear to not notice the change. They are beginning to believe the lie. With nothing tying them to reality, and such a strange aura surrounding the memories of the event, they are succumbing. I try to reason that they are just playing along, like me,, saying anything to keep on breathing. But I look into their eyes and see only darkness. Their spark is dwindling. My captors are trying to erase my memories, making my family and my life seem like another reality. For what purpose, I can not say. They will not succeed.

I close the locket and stow it again. It's the edge that keeps me ahead. It reminds me of what I know is the truth. With it, I will not be broken. My loves, I will find you.