The Start of the New World: A Narrative Fiction Essay

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Sometimes I feel as if I have invisible kites hooked to my body. As I speed down the road, they fan out behind me and to the sides. Kites that find cliffs, walls and corners not only possible but cleansing. Flying through them, all the dirt clogging their pores gets struck and left behind. All the solids that hold them down are knocked out in one breath, in one long swing of dizzy loops and wide flows. As a kid, you ever run through a forest of yellow lit leaves and blue blobs of shade with your arms spread wide? Each little branch on your level finds you and smacks out your debris. Every high note of the finches or caw of a crow sizzles the fat out of your head. The oxygen heavy air expels pollution from your lungs in a rush of…show more content…
Centuries later, I find myself smaller and bent at wrong angles. My skin is mottled with red, like tiny fireworks against a chalky sky. It’s something I'm lucky to see. Some of us have no eyes. Vision might be unnecessary down here because it’s dark most of the time but I hang onto it. I exercise my eyes to sharpen my sight. When Helen came to me, she clapped politely to get my attention. “What? You know I can see you.” It hurt me to watch her hands, the extra little fingers hanging off the sides flapping as they banged against each other. She didn't understand. She had skin covered jelly for eyes. “I'm pregnant.” I sucked in my breath, held it for as long as I could, tasting it with my tongue before letting it out. The air was stale again. A baby. We'd been through this before, each of us. Flabby and soundless or howling in pain, our last two had luckily died within hours. There had been a time when hope wasn't a sharp knife and babies were coveted. I am the one that remembers but they won’t listen. What is left of that time? Nothing, but me. We live underground in a series of caves, deep in the clay. As a filter, it doesn't rid us of the poison but gets out most; which was the best you could hope for. Under the earth we plant our fungus crops, herd our pale animals, and store our food. Sure, the above ground is scoured for supplies. Seaweed and kelp are picked from the bloated sea. But it’s a dangerous place under the sky. Insanity and sickness breathe the same air
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