Harper Kingsley blog

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December 30, 2024 0 comments

12 Days of Xmas: Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire

Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire

Seated in front of the fireplace drinking hot cocoa with little marshmallows and snacking on homemade zucchini chips. It could have been a normal winter day in a normal life, except it wasn’t. Because the world outside was dark and grim, ashes coating everything, the air far too thick to breathe.

If Bernie hadn’t ever heard about "Silent Hill," she would have fallen so far into shock that she would have died before figuring everything out. As it was, she was glad there weren’t horrible mutant(?) monsters running around with like blades for hands or something. She’d never played the video game and the movies had been too scary for her to watch, but she’d seen trailers and heard enough about the franchise that she’d been able to realize that she was screwed. The world was screwed, and she was living in it, so she was screwed too, and there was nothing she could do about it but enjoy the last bits of her life before she died.

She’d used packing tape to seal up the windows and doors, and she was glad there was a carbon filter on the fireplace flue to prevent the stuff outside from coming in. Though she knew it was far from perfect, and this was all just borrowed time.

"Hey Mom, Mom, are Dad and Uncle Ross going to be okay?"

No, they’re dead, Bernie didn’t say. She forced a reassuring smile and looked at her daughter. "They’re probably fine. The minute everything happened, they would have gone inside where it was safe. They would have blocked up the windows and doors just like us, and just like us they’re waiting for all this to clear up before they come back home. We just have to wait."

"Oh." Alice chewed on her lower lip with tiny white teeth. She held her reindeer mug with both hands and the pink thermal shirt and pants she wore were dingy and in need of a wash. Her favorite fleece blanket was draped over her shoulders like a cape.

"Honey, don’t bite your lip. You’re going to hurt yourself," Bernie said. "Why don’t you eat another chip?"

Alice grimaced. "They’re gross. I don’t like them. Can’t we eat something else?"

If this were a regular disaster, one where they could expect the government to send in the national guard and rescue them, Bernie would have insisted that they should save the little food they have. She would ration things so Alice would have enough to eat while she would eat just enough to stay alive until help came. But this wasn’t a regular emergency.

This wasn’t the aftermath of a hurricane or a tornado or a flood. This was the aftermath of nuclear war.

Those last few minutes watching the news before everything had cut out had made it clear that this was the end of everything. Those ashes falling from the sky, choking the Earth, were loaded with radiation.

We’re dying already, she thought. She didn’t know much about nuclear bombs or nuclear winters, but she’d seen stuff about Japan after Hiroshima. She’d watched "Chernobyl" on HBO.

Knowing that these last moments were fleeting at best, she forced a smile. "I know, why don’t we roast chestnuts?"

"Huh?" Alice cocked her head. She was so young it made Bernie’s heart hurt.

"I’ve never done it, but I’ve always wanted to try it. Like in the Christmas song. We can roast chestnuts over an open fire."

"How do we do it?" Alice asked, sounding interested.

Bernie thought a moment. "I’ve looked it up before. We’ll use a cast iron skillet when it’s time to roast them, but before that we’ll cut Xs in them and soak them in water. That makes them steam to cook themselves and we don’t have to worry about them cracking and popping. I don’t think they explode, but we don’t want to risk losing any of our chestnuts."

She stood up, carrying her half drunk cocoa with her toward the kitchen. "I’m glad I bought them. They were supposed to be for the squirrels, but I don’t think the squirrels will mind if we eat some."

Alice followed after her. "I’ve never had roasted chestnuts. Are they good?"

"I don’t know," Bernie said. "I’ve never tried them either."

There were so many things she’d never tried before. So many things she was never going to get to do–like growing old or watching Alice grow up–but today, on the eve of destruction, she was going to roast chestnuts over an open fire with her daughter.

She hoped they were delicious.

=END=

~Harper Kingsley

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December 29, 2024 0 comments

12 Days of Xmas: The End of the World As They Knew It

The End of the World As They Knew It

They used to have a big family. Wendy remembered that there had always been a lot of people around. She used to have to search to find someplace to be alone, most times ending up crawling under the couch in the small space that only she could fit in. She would hide in her couch "fort" and eat pilfered cheese and crackers that she didn’t have to share with her siblings.

Even before everything Went Bad, there had been a lot of times where they didn’t have enough to eat. All the Bad Stuff happening only meant there was less to eat. Less people, but also less food. There were lots of times where she was so hungry, but all she could do was lie down and go to sleep. She felt less hungry when she was asleep.

Now there was just her, her two years older sister Amalia, her three years older sister Stella, and her five years older brother Daniel. Their parents and two brothers and four sisters… were gone. (Dead. She knew what dead was. She just didn’t like to think of the word and what it meant.)

Daniel was the oldest one left and he was in charge. He was twelve years old, almost a teenager, and he was in charge.

He led them around to scavenge food and supplies from the surrounding area. The local grocery store had already been cleared out by the strangers that had passed through in a big pickup truck. They had watched all the food being taken away, but Daniel had forced them to stay quiet and small, because the people that had taken everything had been bigger and stronger and carried guns.

Daniel had held his hand over Wendy’s mouth, and his breath had been smelly against her face as he’d whispered for his sisters to be quiet. "We don’t know who they are. They look dangerous. What if they eat little kids?"

They’d watched all the food being taken away, and they’d hid and waited until the truck was long gone. And after that the only way they could survive was to go in and out of the neighboring houses, hauling what they could back home using a child’s plastic wagon that someone had hand painted with clumsy looking flowers and leaves.

First they took the foods they recognized, along with blankets and tools. Then when the recognizable food was gone, they had to start puzzling out what other things were.

Their parents had called themselves unschoolers, which meant Wendy and her siblings got to stay home and teach themselves whatever they wanted to learn. Mama had said that there was plenty of time to learn how to read in the future if they ever wanted to. Learning to read was easy, they could do it later when they were grown up and wanted to get jobs and do boring things like reading books and filing paperwork.

But now, for the first time in her young life, Wendy really wished that she knew how to read.

Because after they’d gathered all the food they recognized, they were stuck now trying to figure out what other things were. Who would have thought that there were so many cans and boxes that didn’t have pictures on them?

Last night they’d opened a can of what they’d thought would be chicken noodle soup but turned out to be graying white goop with black and gray bits in it. Daniel had recognized it as mushroom soup, and they’d heated it over the propane stove and eaten it with little hexagonal crackers they’d found in a glass canister in their four houses down neighbor’s house.

That was another thing that made it hard for them. A lot of people didn’t leave their food in their original containers. There were pantries full of plastic and glass bottles and canisters holding pasta and oats and rice and weird brown grain bits that were so hard they made Wendy’s teeth hurt.

Today they were inside the house of their six houses down neighbor. Daniel had broken the backdoor window and used a twisted wire hanger to reach inside and unlock the door.

Amalia and Stella were going in and out of the bedrooms to find blankets and warm clothes because winter was coming. Daniel was in the pantry, and Wendy was going through the kitchen cabinets. All four of them were supposed to keep an eye out for any spare propane bottles.

Wendy climbed up on the counter using a step ladder she’d found and walked back and forth opening the cabinet doors to peer inside. Dishes in one, pill bottles in another, a cabinet full of cooking spices and bottles of vegetable oil. She was disappointed that she hadn’t found anything good like old Halloween candy or bottles of sweet juice.

Then in a lonely side cabinet she found a glass jar all alone. It was full of what she thought might be sugar, but the lid was screwed on so tight that she couldn’t open it to check. There was a strip of freezer tape on the side of the bottle, but she didn’t know what the black Sharpie words said.

Cradling the jar against her chest, she carefully climbed down off the counter and ran toward the pantry.

"Daniel! Daniel! I found something!" she called.

Daniel had a black garbage bag he was putting things into, but there didn’t seem to be much. The home owners must not have gone to the grocery store in a while.

"What did you find?" he asked.

Wendy shrugged. "I don’t know. It was in one of the cabinets. What does it say?" she asked, holding the jar out.

Daniel squinted at the label, biting his lip. "Um. That’s a R, and that’s a O, and that’s a… P? And that’s a… a 3, and that’s a M, and that’s a T, I know T, and that’s a 1, and that’s a C, and another 1, and another P, and a 3."

"But what does it say?" Wendy asked, frustrated. Daniel was the best reader amongst them, but there were a lot of words he didn’t know. It made her mad because she knew even less words but really wanted to know them all.

Daniel’s lips moved and his eyes were extra shiny, but he didn’t cry. "I… I don’t know." He pursed his lips, then used all his strength to unscrew the lid. The powder shifted around inside the jar, alluring in its mystery.

"Is it sugar?" Wendy asked, licking her lips. They’d found a lot of unfamiliar powders and syrupy liquids that had turned out to be different kinds of sugar, including some dark brown "syrup" that had turned out to be honey. It had tasted so good on the last bits of unmoldy bread they’d found.

"I don’t know. Let me see," Daniel said. He licked his forefinger and dipped it into the powder. He sniffed it then carefully licked. "Oh, it’s sweet! I think it’s one of those fake sugars. I like this. We’ll take it back." He started to close the jar.

"Wait! Let me taste it too," Wendy pleaded.

Daniel sighed but proffered the jar toward his little sister. "One taste"

Wendy smiled and licked her finger. "Okay!"

Neither child recognized the word written prominently on the side of the jar. Thick black capital letters written clearly so no one could misunderstand the contents inside: RODENTICIDE

=END=

~Harper Kingsley

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December 28, 2024 1 comment

12 Days of Xmas: Modern Ebenezer

Modern Ebenezer

Three days after Christmas, Eben sat down to really consider the experience he’d had. The "dream" that had been so realistic that he’d woken up gasping like someone saved from drowning. The way his heart had beaten so wildly in his chest that his heart rate monitor watch had been loudly beeping.

It was so loud and insistent. Now, in the light of three days later, he had to wonder how it hadn’t woken him up. The sound should have been reverberating in the background of that life-changing dream. Should have been a jarring discordance as he visited his past and his future while cringing away from his present. But there had been nothing.

The terror he had felt had been so real. As was the hopelessness and despair as he’d realized that nobody would miss him were he to die.

All he had was his money. The fortune he had made through a lifetime focused solely on his work.

He had no close family and no hobbies. The only times he visited anywhere outside of the city it was for work, and he never stopped to enjoy the scenic views along the way. He worked and he went home. It had been the only life he’d ever known.

When he’d been a child, his parents had been poor. His father had been a laborer and his mother had worked in a laundromat washing other peoples’ clothes. When he was 10, his father had been working at the docks and a broken cable had resulted in his father’s legs being crushed. The settlement money had barely paid for the amputations and the manual wheelchair. Prosthetic legs had been far beyond the family’s reach.

Eben’s mother had had to work harder as his father could no longer work. Her hair had turned prematurely gray and the laughter that had always brought sweetness to her face stopped. She worked so hard that her shoulders began to stoop and her hands got rough and cracked.

She had died young. A small cough had turned into a never-ending wracking cough that had sapped the strength from her bones. She hadn’t had a single good night’s sleep and she had withered away before his eyes.

Eben’s mother had died when he was 12 years old, and then it had fallen to him to provide enough food and money for him and his father. He had begun working for a local street gang, running errands and sweeping floors all night while going to school during the day.

Sometimes he wondered what his life would have been like if he hadn’t had to work so hard. Would he have been like the other kids in his class, happy and well-fed, secure in the fact that their parents would always be there to take care of them? Would he have grown up coddled, spoiled by knowing he was well-loved and that his life in the future could only get better and better?

He would never know. Because his life had only gotten worse and worse.

His father had died when he was 17 years old. He had worked so hard and long for himself and his father, but in the end his father had died anyway, leaving him behind. Alone.

He had spent the seven months until his 18th birthday pretending that everything was alright, not wanting to end up in foster care. He had studied hard and worked hard and saved enough money that with a small scholarship he was able to work his way through school.

He had gotten a degree, started a business, and when he’d made a success of himself, his mother’s relatives had appeared. Her cousin and his wife. They had entered his life, acting as though they had always been there, and tried to ride his coattails to a good future.

And that was why he had quietly resented them. Because they had only appeared after his mother and father were dead. After he had grown up and no longer needed them, but had become successful enough in life that he could be of use to them.

His "nephew" was a distant relation. But that family still expected that the younger man would be his successor. That he wouldn’t object to them using his good name to climb the social ladder, and at the end of it all, everything that was his would become theirs.

The dream he’d had, it had shown him that there was no one to care if he died. That everything he’d built meant nothing. That strangers would desecrate his grave because their parents would speak badly of him as the boss they hated.

He’d woken up from that dream, desperate to have one good Christmas. He’d given out raises and promised money to help Bob Cratchit pay for his child’s medical treatment. He’d set up employee funds and passed out end of year bonuses. And the smiles and joy he’d received had warmed his heart.

But three days later, he knew that it hadn’t changed anything.

He was still alone in a big house. His mother and father were still gone. And even if crowds of people showed up for his funeral, what did that really mean at the end of the day?

Eben brooded the day away and stayed up late into the night. And when he finally laid down on his bed, he wondered if he would be visited by three ghosts that would tell him everything was going to be all right.

But there were no ghosts. No assurances. No supernatural events that would forever change him and his view of life.

There was just him waking up on the 29th of December to eat a bowl of oatmeal and watch the news. Just him showering and dressing and going to work and living another day as himself: Ebenezer Scrooge. Rich and lonely and growing older every day.

It was up to him to make the changes he wanted to see. Up to him to find the happiness he wanted to live.

He had spent his whole life working hard, depending only on himself. He had strived and strained and here he was, at the top of the world.

It was up to him to find someone else to bring to the mountaintop. It was up to him to alleviate his own loneliness.

He didn’t want to leave everything he’d made to his mother’s relatives. Didn’t want to die knowing they would receive everything he’d fought so hard to earn, taking it as their due, as though he owed them something for never having been there for his family as his mother had worked herself to death and he’d fought everyday to make enough money for him and his father to survive in poverty.

Eben spent the next few days in thought. Then on January 2nd of the new year, he made some phone calls and changed his life.

He’d never thought that he would have children because he’d never had the time to fall in love. There had been a brief moment when he’d thought he’d found someone, but it hadn’t lasted for long. He had resigned himself to being alone.

But now he made a choice.

He adopted three children, each to represent one of the spirits of Christmas. Each to serve as a reminder for what he wanted out of life: hope, joy, and remembrance.

There was nobody to bring him happiness. He had to earn it for himself. So he did.

=END=

~Harper Kingsley

https://ko-fi.com/harperwck.
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https://www.harperkingsley.net/blog.
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