All That Glitters
A crack of light. A sliver of sun peeked over the short trees and rooftops, slowly warming the cool night air, and prompting the evening…
Author: Odetta Graham
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A crack of light. A sliver of sun peeked over the short trees and rooftops, slowly warming the cool night air, and prompting the evening…
A crack of light.
A sliver of sun peeked over the short trees and rooftops, slowly warming the cool night air, and prompting the evening mists to dissipate. An old, rotting door with no knobs creaked open on wooden hinges.
A pause.
A head peered around the edge of the door, unkempt hair draping into their eyes. Carefully, the figure steps out onto the wooden porch, stepping carefully as the boards creaked and cracked with age.
The figure stepped off the porch and assessed the other dilapidated homes in this neighborhood. The colony hadn’t dared scavenge this far from the settlement since Josh had died. There was still too much danger.
But desperation calls for risk.
Stepping carefully, the figure hoisted their bag further up their back and tied the straps across their chest to prevent the loose ropes from slipping off their shoulders.
They crept up the stairs of the next house, carefully avoiding the metal railing and nails pulling out of the warped wood and inspected the door. Why do all old-world houses have so much metal? The door handle looked slightly rusted, and the windows grayed from dust, but they still shone enough to be dangerous. They leaned back and slammed their foot against the door. The frame shuttered but held fast. They repeated the motion four more times before the frame finally gave way under the assault.
Dust burst away from the door as if retreating from the light. The figure stood in the doorway, waiting for the dust to settle, and assessing the inside of this abode. The last one had moldy furniture set near the door- it was likely once covered in fabric- and had a plethora of wooden items. They had marked that house as one to return to. This one, however, did not look promising. The furniture was covered in some sort of dull, plasticky material with brass grommets along the arms. It isn’t worth the risk to touch that.
The floor was tiled and covered in plastic toys. A tall clock on the wall continued to tick despite its age, and a wooden piano sat against the far wall next to another doorway.
This house likely has canned food.
They were right. An open pantry door revealed shelves of canned food and plastic covered edibles. Some of these looked metallic- something to avoid. There were a few cardboard boxes, but they were greasy and smelled rotten. On the floor there was a bag with a picture of wheat on it. They crouched down and opened the bag.
Flour. White and powdery without a weevil in sight. It was heavy, but worth hauling around. They hefted the bag and left a small, white halo in the air around it- pointedly avoiding the cans.
A quick inspection of the rest of the house, while being careful to not touch anything that shone, showed that there wasn’t much in this residence that wasn’t likely toxic. In a far corner of the house on the second floor was a bedroom, much larger than the one they had slept in the previous night. The bed was plastered with more dust and grit, but the blankets looked intact. They took the top blanket, folded at the foot of the bed, and shook it. Coughing in the clouds of dust elicited from the vigorous action, they wrapped the blanket around their shoulders. It was much nicer than the one they had at home, and certainly better than sleeping without one, thus decided to keep it.
Before leaving the room, they noticed a small wooden box. Most boxes had a dull shine due to gilding or varnish, but this one was plain. They picked up the box and opened it, wondering what people used to keep in these small boxes.
Jewelry. It glittered and shone- unlike most of the other dirt and grime covered trinkets they had seen in other homes. They were gorgeous. A locket lay in the center with a faded picture of two people snuggling a dog. They had heard that dogs had once been pets. But that was long ago. They moved to put the box back but hesitated.
Surely, after all these years without being exposed to the sun, the contents of the box had to be safe. They hesitated. Josh had been found holding a spoon. The plastic handle had shone, and metal scoop glittered in the dim light of the room. But this room was dark and dingy. The only light peaked through the bottom of the heavy, rotting curtains. It had to be safe.
They reached into the box and gingerly touched the chain before quickly recoiling their hand. They waited. Nothing happened. No burning. No agony. And most importantly, no Death.
This was amazing. A rarity! Maybe this could be a solution! If reflective materials were kept away from the sun long enough, they may lose their toxicity and be capable of use again! They set down the bag of flour and untied the rope straps on their bag. They opened the bag. With the other odds and ends they had already gathered, there would not be enough space for the box. They reached into the box and pulled out a fistful of shiny, precious jewelry. It was useless but could grant hope to the others.
Not all that glitters is Death.
They tightened the ropes on the bag again, tied it on, and picked up the bag of flour while readjusting the blanket on their shoulders. They had only been out for two days, but they had to tell everyone the news. They quickly left the room and headed down the stairs. They started to get a slight headache, but that was expected from the lack of water. They needed to refill the leather flask on the way back.
The headache grew as they left the house. They began to get lightheaded as they passed the house they had spent the night in, and began to lose their balance before crossing the driveway of the next one. They staggered to a tree and sat, vision blurring slightly. Am I that dehydrated? They wondered as they leaned back.
It itched.
It ached.
Then it began to Burn.
They spasmed as the fire began eating its way from the hand that had held the jewelry down their arm.
No-
They convulsed, and twitched, spittle spraying past their lips as they writhed on the ground.
Pain.
It was safe-! Safe!
They twisted onto their shoulder, back arched and legs stiffening.
They gasped and panted, trying to force air back into their body.
The next spasm threw the burning arm within view. Bits of red reflected in the shade provided by the tree as it continued to Burn down their body.
Please, let this end!
The Burning stopped. The blanket relaxed its hold on their body as they sank back to the ground, the flour bag tipped over, spilling its contents across the grass.
One final, Pained gasp.
If it glitters, it’s Death.
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