The Sun in the Sky Yesterday
The morning ray found its way into a well-worn living room. Speckles of dust danced under the filtered sunlight, contrasting the dark wooden interior of the repurposed cottage home. The sounds of footsteps bouncing down the stairs stirred awake the woman sleeping haphazardly on the couch. The woman groggily opened her eyes, bloodshot from what could only be considered a nap.
He was gone. It was only natural. He had to catch the early morning train back to his ward. She couldn’t keep him here. They needed him there. It was a surprise that he was even allowed this trip. While the functioning of his ward didn’t depend on him, they could hardly risk a big name like him to the perils that still lingered outside the wards. No one could afford to lose anyone anymore.
A scruffy blanket rolled off her shoulders as she sat up, rubbing away the sleep in her eyes. He must’ve draped his side of the blanket on her before he left. They had settled onto the couch after the exciting day together that ran well into the night. Wrapped in this blanket, they traded in low whispers the mundane details of their lives, interjected with drags of the joints he brought. She tried to stay with him until he had to leave, but her age was catching up to her. Her age and the past decade.
Evidence of their night of debauchery that littered the area around the mismatched couches was gone from sight. He also prepared a glass of water for her on the side table. He chose to take care of her instead of getting moments of shuteye. His generous act made her feel complicated. She was grateful, of course, but it was as if he had cleared away all traces of himself from her life, leaving her only unstable memories.
The little grunt came from the bookshelf to her left. The abrupt sound pulled her out of her thoughts. In front of the mess of a bookshelf, a little girl was on her tiptoes, reaching for a certain book just beyond her fingertips.
“What book do you want this time?” The woman asked. Her voice was raspy and barely above a whisper. Maybe yesterday had left more marks on her than just memories, but none of them were here to stay.
The little girl didn’t seem to hear the woman and proceeded to leverage herself with the plank of the 3rd shelf. The woman didn’t blame her. She didn’t speak again either. Instead, she kept a watchful eye over the child as she sipped on the water that was left for her. The water soothed the discomforts plaguing her since waking up. For all the pain he had caused her previously, he was still considerate.
“Got it!” The girl hopped down with a rather thick book in her hand. Her happy squeal was not loud enough to disturb the other residents of this house. Even at a young age, the girl had learned how to share the roof with more people than space was intended for.
Of course, their living arrangements weren’t uncomfortably cramped. It was borne out of the need to be close to living bodies. Even a solitary and private person like the woman had voted for this type of intimate living arrangement. With less than a percent of the world’s population remaining, it was hard not to feel isolated. The upside was that they had plenty of ready-made options for their new collective homes. There was reasonable room for everyone’s needs.
The girl trotted to the couch, plopping onto the blanket piled next to the woman. “Auntie, can you read this to me?”
The woman took another sip of water before setting the glass down. She flipped through the ecology textbook for an image. Any image.
Reading, for the little girl, meant seeing pictures and getting explanations of what they were. Literacy wasn’t a priority for children in this desolate world. Even if it were, the contents of the books were hardly suitable for entertaining them. What lined those shelves were a collection curated for the work each of the adult residents was responsible for.
The woman’s role was the teacher – the only teacher in their ward, in fact. She had the responsibility of the principal, the teacher, the caretaker, and everything in between. This was her role in the ward because everyone else was needed elsewhere. As for her? What use was a culturalist in a world still being rebuilt?
The school — if it could even be called that — hosted less than a handful of students. The incident that sparked all that followed had changed everyone’s bodies. As far as she knew, the only child born after was the little girl sitting beside her. It had been hard for the younger ones to survive as well. The school was established with the ward system, to take the children off the adults so they could work on bringing back more of society faster. The children were tasked with work as well. Small jobs like sorting through storage units occupied half of their day; the other half was filled with lessons favouring hands-on knowledge over textbook dribble. The goal was to make them functional adults as soon as possible.
The woman’s erratic flipping came to a stop. Featured on the page was a photo of a majestic animal. The girl gasped and immediately asked what it was.
“This is a whale. It lives in the ocean.” She kept her answer short. She wasn’t ready to give lectures yet. Not in her sleep-deprived, drug-addled state. She almost regretted picking this image. Had this been one of her better days, she would have spent the whole day talking about their classification as a mammal, the event of their death, and their equally interesting cousins. She was well-versed with these animals thanks to her best friend. The woman smiled fondly at the memory.
“The ocean? Like the big salty lake you told us about before? ”
“Yes.”
Their ward was next to a lake. It had provide much of their resources. In fact, most wards were built near water, reminiscent of their ancestors’ decisions when human society first formed. In a sense, history was repeating itself, but they still had modern science and technologies at their disposal. They just needed to get everything up and running again for their new societal organizations.
“Can we go see it someday?”
“Maybe. When you’re older.”
“Why?”
“It’s very far. You know it’s dangerous to go outside the ward. Maybe that’ll change when you’re older.”
“But that big brother yesterday came from the outside,” the little girl puffed.
“He’s special. He can handle himself. He’s lived through hell.” They all have. They, the adults.
“That’s not fair.” The little girl was kicking her feet, not aware of the weight behind those words.
“No, it’s not.” The woman paused for a moment to consider before continuing. “It’s also not fair how you’re made to grow up. It’s not fair, but that’s the best we could do.”
“You and Mommy are working hard, I know. Grandma and Grandpa Yu, Uncle Xion, Poochie, and everyone else too.”
The woman stroked the girl's hair affectionately. A child so young wouldn’t know what had happened to this world and why the adults were working so desperately. Still, she sensed the defeat in the woman’s voice and tried to console her.
The woman decided she didn’t want to continue the conversation any longer. She gave a final two pats on the girl’s already sturdy shoulders and sent her on her way.
“Now, the others will be waking up for breakfast soon. Go wash up and get dressed for the day. We’ll be out in the field today, so dress appropriately.”
“Yes, auntie. Our work will help make the outside less dangerous, right?”
The woman gave a weak smile and a nod in response. The girl seemed satisfied and skipped away. She was surely dreaming about an ocean she may one day see and the majestic creatures that inhabit there.
The woman collapsed into the blanket, her eyes trained on the opened page as she thought of whale falls. The grand creature decayed into nothingness as its remains fueled new generations of life. The world continued, perhaps more vibrantly than before, but the whale was no more. Just like how her old life was gone. They were well on their way to restablishing world order. What they lacked in manpower, they made up in expertise. They’ve even made significant scientific advancements. But even more so, life would never return to what it was.
Her heart ached. There was nothing to miss about the human society that was messed up beyond repair, but her heart ached. It ached for the little girl who will never get to know the colourful human world that once was. It ached because the little girl could only dream of the future but never agonize over a lost past.
The morning sun had snuck onto the couch, as if to become the next occupant in the space beside her. Energy from the sun was warming up the cold blood in her body. But the sun that rose today was not the same sun that brightened the skies yesterday. 
