Revolve Around.

“Tell me about it.” I say, taking a sip of my drink. “I want to know what it was like.”

My grandad looks at me, cautiously, almost as if he is warning me off. He shakes his head, then places his hands onto the table, his palms facing the wooden surface. He sighs, then meets my eyes. There is sadness swimming around in the blue of his eyes.

“Darla…” His voice trails off. I just want answers and I am fed up with not getting them. In school, we only learn about the here and now. They don’t tell us anything about the past. No one says anything about the past anymore. I think people are scared this generation are going to make the same mistakes as them. How can we stop ourselves from making those mistakes when we don’t even know what those mistakes are?

“I don’t know where to start.” He admits, looking away from me. I follow his gaze, leading me to the window, situated next to the bar door. I can’t make out what the weather is like outside. There is nothing but darkness. I look back at my grandad, who is now finishing off his drink. “Look, kid, digging for answers isn’t a good idea.”

“I’m not a kid.” I say, which causes my grandad to laugh. It almost comforts me. Since nan died, he hasn’t laughed as much and even if he is laughing at my stubbornness, he is still laughing. “I got in here, didn’t I? I just want to know what it was like. Please.” From the bar, a man spins on his chair and glares at me. He is holding a glass filled with golden liquid and I can see his hand visibly shaking.

“It’s a touchy subject. People don’t like to talk about it.” Grandad says, shaking his head. I glance back at the man at the bar, who now has turned back around. I frown at the back of his head, then look at my grandad. “Darla, why the sudden interest?”

“No one ever seems curious or ever wants answers.” I whisper to him, trying not to draw attention to myself or my grandad. I know how it is. Asking too many questions can get you into trouble but I am desperate to know what has happened and why. “No one talks about it. I don’t understand. I don’t get it.” He nods as if he understands.

“It was beautiful…” He starts, then looks around. If he was caught telling me this, he would be arrested. No one is allowed to talk. “God, it was magical. There was so much life. So much beauty. Nature thrived. Trees. Flowers. Everyone and everything was full of life and people were happy”.

I try to imagine this world my grandad talks so highly of. This world where plants thrive and people are happy. No one is happy anymore. People are miserable. Some people are counting down the days until either they die or the planet dies. There are people on the streets with signs that read the world is ending. People have slowly stopped having children and people have locked themselves in their house because the air is cleaner. We aren’t meant to talk. We aren’t meant to know. People are dying every day. Diseases. A lack of food or hygiene. We are slowly losing all of our supplies. We are slowly losing our minds. And our lives.

“What is going to happen?” I whisper, growing fearful of the man at with is back turned to us both.

“Death. Destruction. The apocalypse has started. It started when you turned six. We could say goodbye in a year, a month or a week. We are losing.” I feel a chill climb up my spin but I am not cold. I am wearing five different layers of clothing. “The sun has gone. We are next.”