SHORT STORY

Rubble

Strewn

A bird passing across a black and white view over the tip of the Melbourne skyline. Image credit: Author

He brushed the rubble on the floor aside, picking up fragments for their usefulness. He found a half-crushed can and stuffed it into a ready side pocket.

He walked to the window and looked out across the field as something moving in the distance caught his eye. He peered through the scope as it darted behind some trees and out of sight. It was gone. The light was fading.

He stood the rifle under the window and opened his map on top of a nearby dresser. He was still several hours from where he wanted to be; several could turn into many, and nothing good could be found in the dark. He’d stay. He still had rations for a day or two.

He swung his bag down underneath the open window, then pushed the dresser across the floor and hard against the door.

He checked the rooms and took a small mattress, dusted it off with a few hard smacks and dragged it out under the window, then pulled a chair from around the dining table and sat within arms reach of it all.

He sat there a while, getting lost in the dimming blur of the distant buildings. A thought passed by — a decision to be made, and something she said in consolation:

If he betrayed her, he’d lose her;

If he betrayed himself, he’d be lost.

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