Ahead of you is a new project we have been thinking about for a long time! We present to you a series of short stories so that you can learn a little more about the main characters we have created.

If you are a fan of post-apocalyptic literature, and the hustle and bustle of today's world does not give you much time to read books, we have a small alternative for you :)

The next parts and segments of our post-apocalyptic universe are coming soon!

 

Botanist of Hope

Part 1. Crypt of Doom

 

A quiet murmur echoes along the scratched walls of the corridor. The paint is peeling and falling off in great patches, from radiation, moisture, old age. Before, people had so much time and peace that they could care about the color of the walls.

Now everything is gray. Even the sunset does not decorate the sky with warm colors, there is too much dust and gases in the air.

The sun at some point just disappears. And you are flooded with darkness. The chill. A miserable reality.

You can't even see the stars. Not that anyone still looks for them, life is too busy. The numbers on the timer are flying down. You can't see it, but you know it's there somewhere. That eventually it will strike 0:00:00 for you too.

That's why you have to hurry. With everything. With life. With thoughts. With love and sorrow. People get up and before they have time to properly wake up, they grab their tools, their bows. They struggle with the day. For many of them, existence is not a pleasure, but a duty. After all, when the world ends and the species is on the verge of extinction, you are no longer an individual, but part of a drowning organism. If YOU give up, you don't just kill yourself, but everyone around you who might have received help from you.

And then night comes. And for a split second you may be left alone with your own head.

I don't sleep very well. I'm not fond of loneliness.

The barrel creaks mournfully as I lean against it to reach the water and fill the beaker.

"Are you going out? Again?"

The words circulate in my mind for a moment and then evaporate, leaving no trace of existence. It's not worth bothering with.

"I’m going out." I nod.

I press the canteen to my lips, the cold liquid calms me down for a moment.

"You are going out. Why go?"

This time we will do without provisions for the road, the village is having a hard time again. The weather is completely out of our favor, the last field of potatoes was destroyed by acid rain. True, there are still those sown inside the cathedral, but with so much light their growth takes a long time. Too long.

I know hunger well. It sings me songs to sleep.

"What for? There is nothing there."

I turn toward the voice. A petite woman hides behind the door frame. In her hands she holds a bundle that occasionally emits a sorrowful moan.

I know hunger well. It can be cheated. Flood the stomach with water.

Then the hunger stops for a while. In turn, when it realizes that it has been lied to, it returns with increased force, chastising you for your human tricks.

"Leave her, Eve. Let her leave." interjects a man from the depths of the room.

"Come on, go out. Go. For nothing. Go."

The village is not my home, although I spend a lot of time here. The only major cradle of civilization a good dozen kilometers away.

People here are ... skittish. They circle around you like untamed dogs. They wait for you to throw a piece of the old world under their feet. Then they come a little closer. Sometimes they even speak up.

I bring back souvenirs from my expeditions. Street name plates. The village leader usually calls everyone to a bonfire. He sheds a tear or two. He says: Ah, yes, I remember that name. There, so beautifully on the corner, were the hostas bloom.

Though he's honestly not convinced that the memories he sees in his mind are his.

He might as well have only known them from other people's stories.

Tinted glass. Women wrap pieces with copper wires and hang them on the graves of loved ones. When a lost ray of light falls on them, the ground shimmers in the colors of the rainbow for a moment.

Books. Although it's hard to find them anymore, if they haven't been destroyed by the end, soldiers are doing it at this point.

In this world you can't focus on fantasy. Such a thing is dangerous. Then a person starts to think. Devotes time to something other than work. For something other than rebuilding the species.

The army sometimes looks into the village. It takes away accumulated supplies, explaining that people in shelters have it harder. That it is necessary to support each other. That this is what humanity is.

And then they disappear.

And don’t respond when the village needs them.

If I find a seed bank, the village will be independent. Children will play with full bellies. The shaky walls of the cathedral will grow green. At least for a moment, I will feel that I am human again.

And not just something that survived.

"Where to this time?"

The guard at the gate doesn't even lift his head to greet me. He is concentrating on rolling a crooked cigarette.

"East of the city." I answer quietly.

"Are you still looking for those plants?"

I pull a bent box of matches from my pocket. I light one. The guard thanks me, a moment later he draws smoke from dried herbs into his lungs.

"You know, one of these days I'll go out with you. When they don't need me here."

The gate opens. A gravel winding road appears in front of me. And the ghost of the previous world. He mutely calls me to himself. He orders me to follow his steps.

"Come back before the storm."

"I will." I say goodbye to the guard.

 Click here to read part II!