Afterland by Masha Leyfer Read Free Book Online Page B

attempting to express an emotion I can’t explain. “I never said that!”
    “Didn’t you? Why did you tell me your name then?”
    Because I do want to come, more than anything else in the world, and I despise you for knowing it.
    “That doesn’t mean anything,” I say, though that is not a real answer and my tone of voice is so unconvincing, even I don’t believe myself.
    “That means everything,” he objects. He thinks for a moment. “Fine, if that doesn’t convince you, tell me this: what do you want more than anything in the world?”
    Checkmate.
    I could lie, of course. I could tell him that I want to settle down and live a peaceful life with my family, and watch the ocean winds wear Hopetown to the ground. I could tell him that I never see the faces of the Rebellion ever again. I could tell him that this means nothing to me and that he’s wasting his time trying to convince me, but my tongue trips over itself every time I open my mouth to try and say it.
    I can’t bring myself to lie about this.
    “I want to change the world,” I admit quietly. The words are sweet and acidic in my mouth.
    Mike smiles triumphantly.
    “In that case, we leave in half an hour.” I nod silently and turn my back to the Rebellion, just for a moment, and return into Hopetown.
    The crowd watches me curiously. I think they still expect me to be dead.
    My parents are waiting a few meters behind everybody else. I pull them back several meters more.
    “Mom, Dad,” I say, “I love you, you know that right? I want you to always know that.”
    “Of course,” my dad responds. “We love you too, Molly, more than anything in the world.”
    My heart pangs.
    I love you too. That’s why I’m leaving, alright? Can you understand that?
    “What’s going on? Is everything alright?” my mother asks anxiously.
    “Yes,” I say. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes, all right?” I leave them standing with the crowd and run to my house. The door creaks familiarly as I push it open and rush into my room. I pull a backpack from under my bed. Mike didn’t specify what to bring, so I stuff in as much as fits and hope that I’m bring the right things: several shirts, pants, sweaters and basic toiletry. I put my paint blocks and two pads of paper into it as well. I tie my snowshoes to the back and push several books into the pockets. My hands move automatically, as if by a rehearsed routine. From the corner of my bed, I take the bunny that I ran with from the ash clouds and my closest friend for thirteen years. One of his ears is falling off. I’ve never noticed that before.
    Is that all I want to bring?
    No. There’s one more thing. In the very corner of the wasteland under my bed is a small chest. I pull it out and open it. Inside is a small locket with a photo of my parents and me before the Tragedy. I clutch it tightly to my chest and breathe deeply, inhaling its musky scent. That smell has always been the beacon of comfort and safety.
    I blow the dust off of it and open it, running my fingers fondly along the photograph’s faded surface and the tarnished metal of the locket. This is what I’m leaving behind, but I know that and I’m doing it anyway. I slip it over my head, put the backpack on and head out. I am surprised at how easy this is for me. Where are all of the regrets, the guilts, the hesitations?
    I open the door.
    Ah.
    There they are.
    Somehow the creak of the door tells me that I’m not ready to leave this place, not yet. I go back inside, running my fingers over the walls, turning over spoons in my hands, dragging my feet over the floor. I turn the light bulb on and off several times. I run a finger over the top of the fireplace and it comes off gray with soot. Gray with home.
    I go into my parents’ room. I press their covers to my nose, taking in the warm smell and trying to recreate our happiest memories together. I clutch the bedknob on their headboard and rub my fingers over the lacquered surface.
    I press my