A Girl for Lucian – Part 1

A Girl for Lucian

By A. Sylvur

Word Count: 1505

Austere and hopeless was humanity’s future . . .

A traveler walked down a worn road, which lead to another dismal town. He surveyed the questions in the eyes of each male face he came across. A smidgen of hope screamed out at him and he wished he could give them the answer they wanted to hear. Sodden with grime from his search for hope, all he could do was shake his head. He had yet to spot a female since he took up tracking several years ago.

With every new tale of a female sighting, he took off to confirm or deny the tale. For seven years he searched, but always came up empty. Every day he relived that moment in history that no one from his generation will ever forget. Thousands have recorded their versions of man’s victorious discovery. And he too recorded that day with vivid clarity, but he couldn’t call it a conquest.

He moved silently toward the Victorian home. The words ‘Bethany’s Bed and Breakfast’ was carved in wood sign and painted gold to match the pink house with gold trim. Men were coming in and out of it, so he presumed it was still in operation. He stepped through the doors and smelled rosy potpourri. His wife loved roses and planted several gardens around their home. Once again all eyes pleaded for news or anything that would give them hope. The traveler couldn’t give them what they wanted and avoided eye contact as he found a table.

Immediately, a waiter appeared with a menu. The man’s eyes were sullen, and pleaded for a bit of hope to keep him going.

The traveler shook his head. “I’ll take a Samuel Adams Boston Lager and the pot roast,” he told the waiter.

“I will get it out to you as soon as possible, Sir.” The attendant collected the menu and departed.

Slowly, he removed his dirty coat and satchel only to place them on the seat on his right. He took the time to rub his face before he removed a journal from the satchel. As he held the journal, he remembered his father’s advise to document everything. And he wrote in it every minute he could steal. Mentally, he made a note to thank his father.

The dust from the volcanic lava beds was strong and emanated from his clothes. Strangely, this wasn’t the first time he felt as though he were in a movie, could have been a western. Chaos had broken out around the world. Riots were rampant. No one expected such a high price for a bit of male glory. Perhaps this was hell.

His drink arrived. Thirsty for something other than water, he reached for his drink before it hit the table. The journal fell open as he drained his glass then as he set it on the table; he glimpsed the date written by his hand. Immediately, he closed it. That was a day he never wanted to remember. But he couldn’t seem to forget. It had been seared into his permanent memory. If only he had been the one to die. Tears began to fill his eyes. It was then he looked up and noted several teary eyes that quickly glanced away when he made visual contact. Could they sense his pain? Were their stories similar to his? Did they lose a wife, or perhaps a sister or daughter? No. He inhaled. It was too much to bear his pain and couldn’t endure any others. His mind protectively switched to his son.

It was fear that kept him going. Fear for his son who would suffer the most from this tragedy. Greed for power of the rich brought this upon all mankind. Yet, every country suffered the same fate as America. Every man on earth wanted power and now they were all paying for it. How ironic that the one time they wanted to share their miraculous find with all of humanity that they just might have killed what they sought to preserve. But the male population would suffer a slower death. Not nearly the same depth as his wife. Yes, every woman suffered. The women who didn’t die instantly died with agonizing pain several days later. Screams from wives, sisters, and daughters, girls of all ages were could be heard from anywhere those last few days women were on earth. He could still recall his wife’s deafening shrills of pain. She begged him to kill her up until she couldn’t speak any more. But he wasn’t spared her agony, because her eyes conveyed her pain after her voice died.

He closed his eyes, trying hard not to remember that day or what his beautiful Vivian suffered. Something . . . he had to focus on anything except that day.

The traveler sensed a presence and looked to his left and up. The tears he fought escaped and ran down his dusty cheeks. The waiter refilled his glass and brought a box of tissues then left him alone. Grateful, he nodded to the man, too emotional to speak as he dried his eyes. He’d heard that the pain of losing someone you love lessened with time, but he hadn’t found that to be true. She was there . . . waiting every time he closed his eyes. It was essentially a sweet torture that left him desolate when he woke up. Every day became more difficult to want to survive. He didn’t want to wake up, but his son needed him. Yes, his little Lucian. It had been seven years since he’d physically held his son. Though they communicated through the computer wrapped around his wrist, he still missed his boy. Lucian’s bright green eyes that were a gift from his mother, but his son had his dark brown hair. But another thing his son inherited from her was the symmetrical facial structure. No matter where he looked, something reminded him of her. He reached for a pen and opened the journal. Poised to write, his wrist light flashed green then red. A soft smile touched his lips. After his tears were gone, he rubbed his face once again before he attached an ear device for a little bit of privacy then flipped a panel to see his son wearing a miniature military uniform. Fatigued, he still managed a smile for his boy.

“Sorry to bother you, Alex, but our Lucian found something. I’m not sure how you want me to handle this.”

Within the boy’s hand was a journal. He recognized it. “No bother, Dad. It’s all right. I enjoy seeing both of you.”

His son of nearly eight interrupted and whined, “I’m almost a man, Dad.”

Alex grinned. “Yes, I see that now. Forgive me.”

“Please. I’m ahead of my class.” Lucian tugged on his grandfather’s shirt, “Tell dad about gym today.” Eagerly, he turned back to his father, “I took every down in gym.”

“It was never my intent to keep her from you. Your grandfather and I only wanted you to mature first.” He sighed as he thought about the decision that would change his son’s view of the world while his son pleaded for permission to read the journals. “Fine. All I ask is that you stay close to grandpa. Talk to him about your feelings. But learn all you can from your studies. I’m proud of you, Lucian.”

“Thanks and I will, Dad.” Lucian smiled sadly. “I love you too. When are you coming home? We miss you.”

Alex considered his son’s question then shook his head. “I can’t return until I’ve found what I am looking for.”

Before the boy could ask more questions, Alex’s father stepped into the view area and said, “We will let you go for now and will speak to you soon.”

“Take care . . . both of you.” The transmission ended and when he closed his eyes, the vision of his son holding that journal wouldn’t go away. Once again that day reared up like a vengeful viper. He knew what he needed to do. Reluctant to weep before strange men, he called for the waiter.

“Yes, Sir?”

“I would like to have my meal in a room, please. After sitting for a spell, I feel that I could use a shower after all.”

Luckily, the waiter had no problem with the arrangement. Ever so grateful, he tipped the man before he gathered his things and followed the waiter through double doors on the other side then up to a room.

“Sir, I don’t mean to pry, but have you found anything? Perhaps a strand of hair? Or a—”

As he set his things on the floor beside the bed, the traveler interrupted, “No. I’m sorry, as of yet I’ve found nothing. But I won’t give up and neither should you.”

“Thank you, Sir.” The waiter nodded forlornly before he left the room.

Exhausted, both physically and emotionally, Alex still managed to wash up and change before his food arrived.