Where the Sleeping Dogs Lie: Apocalytic Essay - Finished
Where the Sleeping Dogs Lie
It got the dogs first, mine included. A few other mammals were next, and after that, we all thought we had it under control until a woman in Nevada showed symptoms. I guess they couldn’t build a wall fast enough, because then, suddenly, half of the U.S. fell. That’s the last I heard before it reached my community and we were as helpless as everyone else. All communication and information services were down within a week.
Six months later it got to the point where it was just me and the graves and the empty buildings, until I couldn’t stand my cemetery-city anymore and I filled my backpack and I left. These days it’s difficult to straighten out the pros and cons, so I can’t be sure if staying would’ve been best, even if the beginning was miserable.
The first month was the worst, when the music of various MP3 players I found was the only thing that could blot out the fear of silence and things in the dark, allowing me to sleep. In the day, I’d have to sing to myself, for company and to keep my thoughts straight. This helped to preserve the MP3 player batteries until I met Silo, and then I didn’t need sound to sleep anymore.
Silo was the first living thing I came across since Exodus, and the first thing I had that wasn’t a burden, physically or mentally. Alongside him I found a lapse in the persistent fear, a Shepherd to chase away the things in the dark.
He was a German Shepherd, the perfect height so that my hand would touch the top of his head like a constant reminder, warm so that I had company, soft so that I could sleep. I don’t know why he stayed and it didn’t matter; he stuck with me from the first moment I saw him despite the fact that in the first instant the fear he was feral had me turn and run. The thing that made me trust him was his collar and the dog tag stating ‘I AM LOST. Please Call…’ Once he decided he was going to stick by my side at the end of the day, I took that tag off, threw it, and said, “Not anymore.” It was directly afterwards that I found SILO written in Sharpie on the back of his collar. I contemplated this name until I saw how he ate like a pig.
After Silo, things were actually looking up-if that was even possible, and as long as ‘looking up’ meant that I wasn’t alone. Our only handicap was sustenance; most of what we found was spoiled and it didn’t help that during the Exodus, the ones in the right of mind took all the food from the stores and high-tailed it. There were fruit trees, gardens, and farms here and there, and Dad once said “Chocolate lasts forever,” but not a day went by I didn’t think of a Big Mac. But then again, every day I told myself I could last as long as I had the glasses on my face and Silo under my hand.
It wasn’t until two months after Silo (that’s how I started setting things straight, chronologically-A.S.; after Silo) when we really hit the jackpot. We had passed right by Kroger’s and Walgreens in favor of the Wal-Mart ahead- old habits, I guess- to take shelter inside from sunshine, only to find its contents untouched. The shelves weren’t wiped clean like the others, even the canned goods.
After the initial excitement, I followed Silo straight to the pet food, opening a few cans for him and emptying them into a bowl so he wouldn’t cut his tongue. I wandered down the aisle as he ate; looking at a dog vest I was sure I could attach to a bag in which I could fit more cans of food.
“You know what this means.” Silo looked up when I spoke, “You get to carry your own.” I took the vest and Silo watched me as I walked away. “That way you can stop eating mine, you pig.”
Once the dog-pack was fashioned together, I set it alongside my things in the furniture department and went on the hunt for food. Snacking on a nostalgic box of dry Cheerios, I went around the store, pulling things from the shelves and putting them in an extra bag. I wandered back to where I left my things, picking out new clothes to wear and getting Silo water along the way. After setting down a bowl, I sat on a loveseat and slid a sketchbook from my bag, intent on illustrating a dream from the night before. Silo got his fill of the water and jumped up next to me onto the cool leather.
Some people may be shocked to find sketchbooks-three, nonetheless- in my ‘survival pack’, but I maintain that they were a necessary burden in order to relieve the burden on my mind. In addition to these were my writing notebook and various utensils my creativity would make use of. As a matter of fact- I carried with me what I always would, when I was normal.
I wore my watch, even if time had no meaning anymore, and I continued to wear it even after its faith ran out and the battery died. I had my old cell phone and laptop-the presence of my LG Neon and the once-beloved Inspiron 1525 helped to sustain my state of mind.
But perhaps one of the most significant, what I was driven forward by, was my high school class ring. Set on my right middle finger, ornamented with alexandrite and the remindful engraving of HOPE facing me and GEMINI on the other side.
I sketched until Silo fell asleep, and wondered what we would do from here. We could stay a few days; maybe take one of the bikes on the way out to help with our doubled load. I habitually glanced at my dead watch before alternatively looking at the joining dusk outside. Placing my things aside, I went to change into pajamas I found and then take some semblance of a shower with bottled water. I hadn’t worn proper night clothes in awhile, and the Tinkerbelle print was quite comforting.
I also took the time to take a good look in a mirror, just to judge how I’d changed. I didn’t bother with my hair much these days, just kept it short. Other than being thinner, tanner, and wearier, I saw no change. I have my mother’s appearance, her brown hair, her hazel eyes, nearly nothing of my father save the texture of my hair. What dreams I have I receive from my mother also; we always had similar dreams of dark things.
Quickly getting tired of my reflection, I returned to Silo, still asleep. Instead of waking him to move to a better couch, I curled up next to him, and he raised his head a few inches to look at me. My face in his fur, I muttered, “You need a bath, Silo.” He groaned, laying back down; apparently deciding I was a hopeless case. That night I dreamt Silo and I were led to Neverland and the Lost Boys, and the next day, we met the first human since Exodus.
I woke early with discomfort and the need to move. Sneaking away from Silo, I went to seek out a proper bike that would carry us toward wherever we were going. Trying not to wake Silo or kill myself, I got one off the rack to try out. Outside, the sun was briskly rising; gold skittered along the ground after me as I took off to the north. I quickly understood why this WalMart was untouched; no one had the time to leave. A block to the north, bodies lay everywhere. The survivors had begun to gather the bodies but were soon overcome themselves. Around five blocks, I saw a body hunched over another and almost dismissed it, except there was a convulsing motion of the one knelt that had me off my bike crashing to the ground. I ran forward, but the blood pool froze my veins.
The head of the knelt body rose, turned, and all I saw was the slab of skin hanging from the mouth before fear also rose and took control. The pavement stung my feet as I ran away, but the body was up now, moving, moving, moving, running, alive. I stumbled into the bike, but quickly recovered the handles, just three feet from death. The pavement left one last gash in the padding of my foot but then I was gone, the wind replenishing the life where fear had risen and pushing the grotesquerie away, away, gone.
I didn’t stop until I was back within the WalMart, and the beating of my heart left little room for me to scream. I had tried to call for Silo, but whether or not I really did, I can’t be sure. Either way, Silo was there, body rigid from detecting fear. I fumbled with our things, packing them into our two bags and dog-pack. One bag slung over my shoulder and the others in the basket of the bike, I took off again, this time aiming for the back of the store, where I knew doors would lead to the storage and the back entry. Silo ran after, following without understanding.
We burst through the rear entry and I took us toward the west until Silo began to slow. I stopped in an alley and let myself and the bike fall to the ground, where I covered my face and Silo saw me cry for the first time.
From that point on, it began to haunt me. I wondered if someday, I’d lose it like he did; just go flat-out survivalist Hannibal Lector. Would I accept consuming human flesh before I accepted death?
Would I accept death at all?
I began to pick flowers as I passed them, to lay by the bodies and graves.
It got the dogs first, mine included. A few other mammals were next, and after that, we all thought we had it under control until a woman in Nevada showed symptoms. I guess they couldn’t build a wall fast enough, because then, suddenly, half of the U.S. fell. That’s the last I heard before it reached my community and we were as helpless as everyone else. All communication and information services were down within a week.
Six months later it got to the point where it was just me and the graves and the empty buildings, until I couldn’t stand my cemetery-city anymore and I filled my backpack and I left. These days it’s difficult to straighten out the pros and cons, so I can’t be sure if staying would’ve been best, even if the beginning was miserable.
The first month was the worst, when the music of various MP3 players I found was the only thing that could blot out the fear of silence and things in the dark, allowing me to sleep. In the day, I’d have to sing to myself, for company and to keep my thoughts straight. This helped to preserve the MP3 player batteries until I met Silo, and then I didn’t need sound to sleep anymore.
Silo was the first living thing I came across since Exodus, and the first thing I had that wasn’t a burden, physically or mentally. Alongside him I found a lapse in the persistent fear, a Shepherd to chase away the things in the dark.
He was a German Shepherd, the perfect height so that my hand would touch the top of his head like a constant reminder, warm so that I had company, soft so that I could sleep. I don’t know why he stayed and it didn’t matter; he stuck with me from the first moment I saw him despite the fact that in the first instant the fear he was feral had me turn and run. The thing that made me trust him was his collar and the dog tag stating ‘I AM LOST. Please Call…’ Once he decided he was going to stick by my side at the end of the day, I took that tag off, threw it, and said, “Not anymore.” It was directly afterwards that I found SILO written in Sharpie on the back of his collar. I contemplated this name until I saw how he ate like a pig.
After Silo, things were actually looking up-if that was even possible, and as long as ‘looking up’ meant that I wasn’t alone. Our only handicap was sustenance; most of what we found was spoiled and it didn’t help that during the Exodus, the ones in the right of mind took all the food from the stores and high-tailed it. There were fruit trees, gardens, and farms here and there, and Dad once said “Chocolate lasts forever,” but not a day went by I didn’t think of a Big Mac. But then again, every day I told myself I could last as long as I had the glasses on my face and Silo under my hand.
It wasn’t until two months after Silo (that’s how I started setting things straight, chronologically-A.S.; after Silo) when we really hit the jackpot. We had passed right by Kroger’s and Walgreens in favor of the Wal-Mart ahead- old habits, I guess- to take shelter inside from sunshine, only to find its contents untouched. The shelves weren’t wiped clean like the others, even the canned goods.
After the initial excitement, I followed Silo straight to the pet food, opening a few cans for him and emptying them into a bowl so he wouldn’t cut his tongue. I wandered down the aisle as he ate; looking at a dog vest I was sure I could attach to a bag in which I could fit more cans of food.
“You know what this means.” Silo looked up when I spoke, “You get to carry your own.” I took the vest and Silo watched me as I walked away. “That way you can stop eating mine, you pig.”
Once the dog-pack was fashioned together, I set it alongside my things in the furniture department and went on the hunt for food. Snacking on a nostalgic box of dry Cheerios, I went around the store, pulling things from the shelves and putting them in an extra bag. I wandered back to where I left my things, picking out new clothes to wear and getting Silo water along the way. After setting down a bowl, I sat on a loveseat and slid a sketchbook from my bag, intent on illustrating a dream from the night before. Silo got his fill of the water and jumped up next to me onto the cool leather.
Some people may be shocked to find sketchbooks-three, nonetheless- in my ‘survival pack’, but I maintain that they were a necessary burden in order to relieve the burden on my mind. In addition to these were my writing notebook and various utensils my creativity would make use of. As a matter of fact- I carried with me what I always would, when I was normal.
I wore my watch, even if time had no meaning anymore, and I continued to wear it even after its faith ran out and the battery died. I had my old cell phone and laptop-the presence of my LG Neon and the once-beloved Inspiron 1525 helped to sustain my state of mind.
But perhaps one of the most significant, what I was driven forward by, was my high school class ring. Set on my right middle finger, ornamented with alexandrite and the remindful engraving of HOPE facing me and GEMINI on the other side.
I sketched until Silo fell asleep, and wondered what we would do from here. We could stay a few days; maybe take one of the bikes on the way out to help with our doubled load. I habitually glanced at my dead watch before alternatively looking at the joining dusk outside. Placing my things aside, I went to change into pajamas I found and then take some semblance of a shower with bottled water. I hadn’t worn proper night clothes in awhile, and the Tinkerbelle print was quite comforting.
I also took the time to take a good look in a mirror, just to judge how I’d changed. I didn’t bother with my hair much these days, just kept it short. Other than being thinner, tanner, and wearier, I saw no change. I have my mother’s appearance, her brown hair, her hazel eyes, nearly nothing of my father save the texture of my hair. What dreams I have I receive from my mother also; we always had similar dreams of dark things.
Quickly getting tired of my reflection, I returned to Silo, still asleep. Instead of waking him to move to a better couch, I curled up next to him, and he raised his head a few inches to look at me. My face in his fur, I muttered, “You need a bath, Silo.” He groaned, laying back down; apparently deciding I was a hopeless case. That night I dreamt Silo and I were led to Neverland and the Lost Boys, and the next day, we met the first human since Exodus.
I woke early with discomfort and the need to move. Sneaking away from Silo, I went to seek out a proper bike that would carry us toward wherever we were going. Trying not to wake Silo or kill myself, I got one off the rack to try out. Outside, the sun was briskly rising; gold skittered along the ground after me as I took off to the north. I quickly understood why this WalMart was untouched; no one had the time to leave. A block to the north, bodies lay everywhere. The survivors had begun to gather the bodies but were soon overcome themselves. Around five blocks, I saw a body hunched over another and almost dismissed it, except there was a convulsing motion of the one knelt that had me off my bike crashing to the ground. I ran forward, but the blood pool froze my veins.
The head of the knelt body rose, turned, and all I saw was the slab of skin hanging from the mouth before fear also rose and took control. The pavement stung my feet as I ran away, but the body was up now, moving, moving, moving, running, alive. I stumbled into the bike, but quickly recovered the handles, just three feet from death. The pavement left one last gash in the padding of my foot but then I was gone, the wind replenishing the life where fear had risen and pushing the grotesquerie away, away, gone.
I didn’t stop until I was back within the WalMart, and the beating of my heart left little room for me to scream. I had tried to call for Silo, but whether or not I really did, I can’t be sure. Either way, Silo was there, body rigid from detecting fear. I fumbled with our things, packing them into our two bags and dog-pack. One bag slung over my shoulder and the others in the basket of the bike, I took off again, this time aiming for the back of the store, where I knew doors would lead to the storage and the back entry. Silo ran after, following without understanding.
We burst through the rear entry and I took us toward the west until Silo began to slow. I stopped in an alley and let myself and the bike fall to the ground, where I covered my face and Silo saw me cry for the first time.
From that point on, it began to haunt me. I wondered if someday, I’d lose it like he did; just go flat-out survivalist Hannibal Lector. Would I accept consuming human flesh before I accepted death?
Would I accept death at all?
I began to pick flowers as I passed them, to lay by the bodies and graves.