Michelle Muckley - The Dawn - The Bombs Fall

Zack sat nodding, agreeable and thankful for Leonard’s willingness not to show his disappointment. They both knew it existed. He had lost too. A wife, a family, a home. There was nothing left for him except this. This was his reality. But Zack could no longer sympathise with his misfortunes. They were no longer the same. Zack stood up and grabbed his blanket and pillow from the bed and bundled them up before thrusting them into Leonard’s arms.

“You have to take my things, Leo.” This room will be ransacked once word gets out. Nothing will be left. You have to take anything you can.” Zack searched around looking for something of use. A spare overall, too big but available. A jumper, holey but still an extra layer. He opened the satchel and pulled out the iPod and pushed it along with the clothes into a pile in Leonard’s arms. He reached under the mattress, pulled out three ration cards.

“Be careful with these. Don’t go crazy with them. There are enough water rations on here to see you through a month without your own.” He reached into another drawer, pulled out an old wallet. There was a photograph in there. It was Zack and Samantha in the summer, when days were long and life felt even longer. Youth lived in the couple who Zack no longer recognised as himself ever being part of. They were cuddling on top of some steps. “Paris,” Zack said. “Years ago.” He took the picture and tore it in half, separating their heads. He slipped the half with Samantha on it into his pocket, handed the other half to Leonard.

“Why?” Leonard said. “I’m not going to forget you.”

“There is always part of me that stayed outside of this tower, but I thought that part of me had died. Now I can feel it again. But the part of me in here,” he paused to wipe away another tear, “it was only kept alive by you. Part of me will stay here with you, and maybe on some of the darker days you can look at this and remember that. Maybe it will help.”

“It will,” Leonard said, his eyes glassing over. “We have to go,” he said quickly, slipping the photograph in his overall pocket.

“No, stay here.” Leonard looked surprised. “If you come, somebody else will get this stuff. The crowd will probably follow me. Can’t you hear them?” Outside the door there was a chant of Zack’s name, demanding their hero winner. “Take the things next door as soon as we have gone. Leonard nodded.

Zack stepped forwards and crouched down. He opened his arms and wrapped them around Leonard’s body. They held each other, both knowing that something else had ended. Their heads rested on each other’s shoulders, and Zack drank in the smell of him without any care for any disease that he might catch. It wasn’t important anymore.

“You take care, Zachary.” They both stood up. “I don’t know what I would have done without you in those early days. I’ll miss you.”

“Likewise, old man. Don’t lose hope. Maybe your clouds will clear after all.”

“Maybe,” Leonard said, not seeming convinced.

“And if not, I’ll find a way to bring back some sunshine into your life.” He held Leonard’s cheek in his hand, Leonard fighting back the first tears of a goodbye, Zack’s fingers sliding around to grip his neck. He pulled him closer. “There is a way out of here, and this is not the only way.” They both nodded their heads, only one of them really believing it. “I’m coming back for you one day.” He walked to the door, opened it a fraction and the cheering became louder. Leonard sat back down. The cheering faded as Zack closed the door.

He was gone.

I was born in the town of Warwick in 1981. It is a small historical town in the heart of England, and Ι was the fifth child born into a family of boys. I developed a huge interest in the written world from a young age, and with more than a little help from Roald Dahl found quite the taste for anything gross and gory. Book club at primary school only proved to increase my love of escaping into the world of a book. Whilst six years at secondary school did little to quell the romantic notion of one day sitting in my mountain cabin and smoking a celebratory cigarette as the first novel was born, somewhere within those six years the dream of becoming a writer got put on hold. Still resting quietly in the background were those long and lingering desires to once again rediscover those old aspirations to write.

About six years ago, with the smouldering embers of a childhood dream sparking uncomfortably underfoot there was what can only be called an epiphany. Who is it that actually becomes a writer? It’s the people who write. It’s the people who actually do more than say, ‘I have a dream’. Whilst this may sound simplistic, it was the revelation I needed to sit down and type Chapter One. The first book, The Loss of Deference was no longer just a fantasy and slowly became a workable manuscript. It was then sent out in eagerness before it was properly edited and therefore it was duly returned, and along with it I collected a nice set of standard rejection letters. Six years later, having uprooted from England to settle on the southern Mediterranean shores of Cyprus, the dream to publish the book once deemed nothing more than a pipe dream is now a reality. I am still working as a part time scientist, but I am also writing daily. When I am not sat at the computer typing about the darker side of life, you will find me hiking in the mountains, drinking frappe at the beach, or talking to myself in the kitchen in the style of an American celebrity chef. Just think Ina Garten

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Copyright © 2014 Michelle Muckley

British English Edition

First Edition

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual people, places, or events is in every respect coincidental.

This work is licensed for your personal enjoyment, but may be lent and copied without prior permission. These permissions extend to your personal use only, and do not intend to cover the copying of the material for distribution to the general public.

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ISBN-13: 978-1501024672

ISBN-10: 1501024671