The Last of Us

Back Bay

I can’t think too much about Elizabeth or Duncan. If I do then all I want is the world to stop. But the only way to stop the world is to stop myself. And if I do that, I might as well stop caring about finding the others.

It’s dark. The dark feels damp on my skin. There was orange in the sky when the sun went down. I couldn’t stop looking at the colour of it.

It’s the same with buoys, or orange pens, or oilskins, or straws. Everything: reminding me of that last smudge of orange we saw at sea.

The same colour as Mum’s jacket.

Since they died I’ve been searching my memory for all the last things. Did we say the right stuff? Did we say please, and keep good manners? Did I tell them how much strength they had, or praise their bravery? Tell how much I was hoping we’d stay friends?

Most of the time I can’t remember. Sometimes I remember real bits, and it seems we were in a hurry.

Yesterday I had a memory where everyone took time to tell each other their good points: that one was false.

Earlier on I went shopping. Not Old: but New Shopping. And I did it all on my own.

I discovered that having a bad memory, having the worst memory, stops the worst fear.

Even so, I’m not sure this is a good strength to have.

There was a sign at the coastguard’s office which said: Who’s afraid of getting their feet wet? Not us!

I found a message written in dust on the silver ledge of a window at the pub: John Anne-Marie.

I found words written on a dirty van: ALSO AVAILABLE IN WHITE. Then underneath: If only my wife was as dirty as this.

I found a pair of slippers, waiting.

I found a house with four people all fallen over each other, beside a note saying who they loved.

I found lots of Bibles in people’s hands. I found some on the floor beside their hands.

I found a mess of things I didn’t understand, beside a dead cat. Then a mess of fur and bones.

On a school jotter someone had written: I’m going to draw you a map with no pictures on it.

I found a game called ‘Beat the Parents’. I stomped on it until the box was broken.

One house had all its furniture covered in sheets, like ghosts. It took me ages to realise it was a holiday home.

A house with tins and tins of dog food.

One man dead at his computer.

One of the firemen from the station at home, on his couch, still in his uniform.

Then I found something: alive. I thought it was a dried-out fishtank. But when I looked close I saw there was a lizard inside. I couldn’t believe it.

It had a frilly neck, like there was too much skin. Its eyes were closed. It wasn’t moving.

I put in biscuits. Then I got a stick like you see people doing with snakes. The lizard moved, once.

I used a bag, and lifted it out. It felt cold, but not cold the way dead people are cold.

We went out to the road. I found some long yellow grass. I made sure the dogs didn’t see it, or the cats. Then I found a bit of sunlight, because I knew from school that reptiles recharge their batteries with sun.

I wanted to say hello. But the lizard just moved off into long grass, slow, slow, then gone.

Now I wonder how the lizard is doing. Did he recharge his batteries fully? Is he looking for other lizards?

Does he see them in bits of grass, or old sticks, or even clouds, like the way I see people?