It came and went

Grandpa was the smartest man I ever knew. All the other kids in the colony agreed. He and his dad started the colony long ago, when the sky’s were bleak and gray. Or at least that what he told us when we were on class. He taught all of our lessons; lessons about art, science, history and math. He always started off our lessons by telling us to remember he is an old man and that he doesn’t recall everything as clearly as he used to and that everything he says may not be right. But everyone’s favorite lessons, and the ones he remembers best, are the ones of the old world. For those ones even the parents of the colony would sit and listen to his tales. They are too young to remember any of the old world, and are just as curious as us to hear what it was like. He talks about an alien world, filled with darkness and violence, the sun couldn’t shine through the darkened sky, and it was bitterly cold. Everything was dying, like a slow curse was placed on this planet by a kiss from the angel of death. People were killing each other just for meager morsels of food, but grandpa won’t tell us kids what happened after the morsels ran out. Grandpa tells us of the malformed grotesque monsters that lived closest to where the bombs dropped. He says they used to be people but that the bombs made them go crazy and transformed their bodies. Some kids get scared of these parts of the story, but grandpa always reminds us to look around to the desert around us, and that they never come this far from the cities. He says that we are lucky to have never seen these cities he describes to us before. That the beautiful reds and oranges of the desert are more stunning than any “glowing city” ever could be. And that out here, where the bombs never hit, is safe. He says that were lucky to only know the bright blue sky that is above us. Grandpa claims that the men who built cities got too caught up in their own ego to see the stunning architecture of these deserts. And that they could never match the craftsmanship of mother carving deep valleys with her rivers, creating arches with her winds, and mountains with her earthquakes. I think I’d like to see these cities one day, with their gray skies, tall towers and black seas. Grandpa says that the cities used to light up the sky for miles after the bombs dropped, and that glow made even the bravest of men tremble In fear, but I am braver than them, I want to see where the bombs dropped. Once while helping my parents at the colony farm I asked about these horror inducing cities, but they had never seen them either. They were born after the bombs had dropped and that their parents lived too far in the country to have to pass through the cities in their journey to the colony. They only remember the skies glowing pink at night after the dark skies had cleared. Mom told me that once after her parents had died and she was on her own heading to the colony she had seen one of the city monsters shambling aimlessly in the forrest. I asked her if she had to kill it. She said she hid and it just kept walking till it was out of sight. One day in art class grandpa showed us a photo his dad had taken of the city they used to live in when grandpa was still little like me. It was badly wrinkled torn. The corners were dog eared and there were creases running through the center from top to bottom and side to side from where he folded it. Most of the kids were scared to even look, but I asked If I could hold it. He chuckled and handed it to me, and asked me to hold onto it for the rest of the class for him. I stared at the photo while the other kids were making art with clay from the river, before I knew it class was being excused. I went to give the photo back to grandpa but when I went to hand it to him he told me to keep it. With a wink he told me I had better catch up with the other kids.