But when I look to the top of the snow
drift to where I saw the movement, I see only a single silouhette in
the bright sunlight which beams from behind it. A person stands there
at the crest, tall and regal. Staring down at me I can see only that
it is human and female and alone. It is a single silhouette bathed in
golden rays and for the briefest moment I am filled with something I
long ago forgot the word for.
“Agatha?”
And before I even know what I've done
the rope is lying in the snow and my feet are leaving ragged craters
in the soft white ground as I run toward the top of the bank, my
boots sinking in down to my knees. Fast as I can I am there but as I
crest the top she is gone and I am blinded. There is only the golden
glow of the harsh sun in this thin air and I can see nothing for a
moment but even then, when it finally comes together, there is only a
shape running away from me in the snow. Toward the horizon and the
sun.
She is beautiful even from here and I
know that she is Agatha, her skin as pale and clear as the white of
the fresh snow and her body as fit and lean as one who has been
forced to live in this hellish waste for years. She is running and as
she does her blonde hair waves out behind her and shimmers in the
light. My own footsteps fall through the snow like a wounded horse in
relation and she quickly moves away as I slow, winded and hurting as
her silhouette is gone from view.
It's then that I realize, looking down
at my own feet burried in the white that there are no foot prints
save my own. As closely as I followed her path it is only my own
steps I see and none leading away. None leading toward her or toward
anyone.
Since I've no way to keep time I have
no way of knowing how much time has passed or how long I've been
running. As I begin to follow my steps back toward the fuel it begins
to snow once more and I become afraid. Without my own steps to follow
and if the weather should turn worse I could die here, nearly within
sight of the station. Killed by my own hopes and imagination.
But I do find my way back and the cart
is still there, undisturbed. The fuel is safe, for now, and I begin
the slow process again of pulling it to a new hiding spot, this time
behind a rock out cropping slightly closer to the station. The entire
time, how ever long it may be, I force the thought of her from my
mind. Force the idea of what it might mean from my mind.
The days are long here but they do not
last forever and if I am to survive another night, if I am to live to
dream again, I must hide the fuel once more and I must refill the
generators. I must make sure they are secure and running so that
tonight, when the cloud cover is right to bounce the radio waves off
of, I can contact her again. It is miracle enough that I can contact
her at all with what little power the set has. It would not do to
miss any opportunity.
And I will not tell Agatha tonight of
what happened. It would not do to worry her. She has enough on her
mind and I know in my heart that I am as much the only hope she has
as she is mine.
I only hope that she is also well.
Lately she has been sounding more and more bleak and I worry for her
sanity. It is all too easy to lose these days.
No comments:
Post a Comment