The Grateful Dead

"The gods have truly blessed us today", said He.

He and She stood on a pile of rubble. This they inherited as a dowry. Their pile of rubble stood taller than some of the other scavengers who were still left. For this they were grateful.

"What a glorious day it is", said She, "It seems I can almost see a shade of blue overhead."

So grateful were He and She for the weekly offering of stale bread the Overseers have provided. They had only crumbs left. The crumbs were placed in a pile between them. He and She sat, thin as nails, watching the rising smoke and the sea of white and gray spanning endlessly. They fed each other the tiny crumbs, savoring the smallest respite from the dust that coated everything now. Everything tasted funny in those days.

The overarching grey hung thick in the air and coated the stale bread. The thick dust got into the open scabs and cuts of He and She. So much metal, metal beams sticking out from the rubble, metal twisted and broken. It was so easy to walk and find oneself with open wounds. The wounds always went yellow and filled with pus. Everything got infected. The dust got into their eyes and they blinked and blinked to no avail. Some argued it was easier to close their eyes indefinitely. When they breathed, they wheezed, and similar to cold wintry days the steam through their nose rose elegentally but was mixed with more dust, soot, and marked by desperation.

He and She were in love. There wasn't much left to hold on to. They fed each other crumbs and they loved each other.

"Oh, darling. It is truly a splendid day here with you" said She, "Have another bite", but the crumb stuck to the dry lip and he had not the energy to move so the crumb now clung there dangling helplessly. She managed a meager laugh.

"Oh, my love, look!"

An amored car, pristine with tinted windows, massive and imposing was making the rounds. It came revving the loud engine. She stood up and patted Him on the shoulder with the gentlest touch.

"I'll be right back, darling"

And she ran barefoot through the broken glass and the broken homes that stood pulverized with only metal beams and door frames left, visages of the old days.

The armored car opened the roof quickly and extended the robot arm. Even the piece of machinery seemed disgusted by the conditions it was exposed to but it listened to the man inside pushing its buttons.

Her mouth watered and she felt the unbearable grumble and pain in her stomach. The robot arm extended its fingers right infront of her, and like a rich man throwing a penny at a drunkard freezing in the street, threw the bag of stale bread at her. The robot arm retracted quickly into the car and the car sped off, desperate to finish it's tedious duty.

She took the bread and took a bite feeling delighted.

On her return to Him she was beaming, "Darling! Look! More food!"

The same men responsible for the nuclear winter were heralded as heroes for the measly stale bread. They thanked them - the ones that killed them all, the one who pushed the buttom and released the hell and the firestorm, they who killed them slowly, day by day.

"Oh what a glorious day it is, indeed!"

And the crumb still hung on the man's lip unmoving, unflinching, growing cold, pale, and still.