The Root - Post-apocalyptic story (Part one)

He thought that only his father, the toxic waste, and he were only passengers on the train. They didn’t see any people since they walked through the iron door of the wagon on the periphery of the Complex. Long time ago, there used to be life in this kind of transport, but there was no longer any need for it. The composition didn't transport passengers outside the living area. The Complex was the pride of the remaining civilization, a symbol of the human desire for self-sustainment after the flowering occurred on the surface. Every new generation was born with the same goal - that in the safety of the underground incorporate a part of itself into the foundations of new society.

Nevertheless, even the underground did not offer absolute security, nor did all people experience its womb as a blessing. The boy often met the rebels on his way from school. As much as the government tried to pack them up and take them out of the street, they would always find new ways to continue their proclamations about the rights of the poor. When his father got sick and lost his right to work, the boy believed in a system that helps. In that as an absolute truth, he was taught by his teachers. That it was a shameful lie, he realized himself.

It was hard to survive each following day, almost to the point that he assigned a special name for the unpleasant silence in their house. Nevercalm. Heavy foreboding that grows on fear. A dark grip that doesn’t let you go, except in the rare moments of sleep. It was such a moment of peace when his father woke him up and told him they must go.

The boy was afraid at first, but he believed his father. He unquestionably accepted the claim that his mother had just called them. That his father heard her voice. That she had not died when he was a little boy, but went to the surface and survived. That everything they believed was a lie born of fear, and that he would understand when he sees. Once when they arrive.

No one prevented them from entering the freight wagon of a communal train and settling down in the waste. As they were swaying in silence, he thought. He occasionally heard the stories about those who went to the surface. The system did not deal with them. We just let them go, they are the dark side of the community that fortunately destroys itself, said one of his teachers.

So, the mother was the first, and now there are two of them. Hours passed in reconsideration of everything he was thought to believe, when the heavy footsteps echoed in the coffin of the composition. His father hugged him. Realizing that this would not be a pleasant encounter, he looked for traces of fear on his face. There was not any. A hunchback man in a worn-out coat walked slowly through the piles of disposals which no longer had the use at the place from which they were escaping. When he approached them, he stopped and spoke in surprise:

"You fool."

Father laughed.

"Move on."

"Is it possible that you're taking your child with you?"

"Yes. I'm taking him... "

"Why didn’t you give him to the social service? He has the right to live. "

"I do not take that right away from him."

"Society would have trained him for something."

"Something like you?"

"What's wrong with me?"

"You call this life?"

"Tradition is to be respected. I succeeded my old man in this, and in what way will your son succeeded you? Death? You are fool! ", said the hunchback, and headed for the next wagon. The boy was waiting, fearing that he would return, aware that something was wrong in his tone. Sensing his feelings, his father gently squeezed his arm.

"Dad, why did he call you a fool? Why did not you tell him why we are leaving? "

"Because he doesn’t understand."

"Do I understand?"

"You understand.", father never lied.

"What is tradition?"

He did not expect an answer, believing that he was in an area that did not belong to children. He made a mistake.

"It depends on my son. It's different for everyone, but most people think it should be the same for everyone. "

"Don’t you think so?"

"No."

"And what is the tradition for this man?"

"It is this train."

"And what is tradition for you?"

"I see only the trash. And what do you see? "

"Both."

After a long time, the father sincerely laughs. Suddenly the boy felt important and he liked it.

"You are a smart little man.", father whispered in his ear.

Soon they were silent again, but the boy was much calmer now. He sought out the memory of his mother. He remembered her voice, and her hands. Just like her, he did not like the Complex, regardless of the occasional nice moments he spent in the game waiting for his father to return from work. He enjoyed talking to him, allowing him to avoid the dark topic of her death. He assumed she was sick. He never thought that this could be questionable, but that wasn’t bothering him anymore. It was only important that they would finally join her.

To be continued

The Root - Post-apocalyptic story (Part two)

The Root - Post-apocalyptic story (Part three)