The Locket by Ashley MacFarlane

I don’t know why I had to come back here, but I did. I found my mind hesitating with

each step, but my feet still moved forward with a sort of insistence, as though my mind and body

were separate. I walked until the tracks (or what remained) laid just inches before my toes. My

heart was beating so loud I could hear the pulsating in my ears as I stopped – frozen, suddenly

aware I had no plan—only the desire to escape the city. I turned to look over the quiet abandon

of the train station. It was unsettling the way the silence seemed to swallow any form of life.

Only a warm, humid air kept me company as it weaved through the remains of the building,

gently tugging on the ivy and grass that had begun to decorate the cracks and crevices.

I looked down at the same ugly metal and concrete platform under my feet that I had

paced along just two years before. Where I anxiously waited for dad to step off the train and

come home. Only this time, I knew the ending. I knew no one was coming, and there was no one

to wait for. I squeezed my eyes shut to disappear and fall back into the memory once more.

Dad was frequently away on business, and this time was no different. He would need to

leave for a few days, sometimes weeks. Meanwhile, I would go to school and work a part-time

job to pay for groceries while he was away. And every time he would return, I was there to greet

him on the station platform. It became our little tradition. I would wait with stories about what he

missed, and he always returned with a small gift tucked away in his jacket pocket. Most of the

time it was little things, like a notepad where he would draw silly caricatures of strangers or bags

of candy I had never tried before. Only this last trip was different; he gave me something before

he left – a necklace.

I pressed my hand firmly against the heart-shaped locket that still hung faithfully around

my neck since the day he gave it to me, feeling the subtle grooves of the floral engraving. I don’t

know why he gave it to me before he left. I always suspected he sensed something was going to

happen.

“Love grows where hope is sown. Keep growing. Love, Dad.” That was the note he left

on my bed alongside the necklace, his last words to me. Dad was always saying stuff like that,

mistaking himself for a hallmark card. I made fun of him for it, though somehow, he always said

something I needed to hear. For months I cherished the note, believing that if I spoke the phrase

long enough maybe I would finally believe it. Only now the words tasted bitter and hallow in my

mouth. And hope was not easily found in the remains of this fallen city.

We all knew the war was inevitable, like a rising pressure before the thunderstorms. But

that doesn’t mean you can ever prepare for it. Of course, we lie and tell ourselves that those were

only events from the past; it happens to others, but not you. Not your home. Until one day it is.

And your world is forced to crumble and become something else. That day was June 29th when

the bomb strikes began, and chaos quickly unraveled; hundreds of thousands of towns and lives

suddenly gone. My dad was just one of the many who never returned.

This city was one of the fortunate few where the destruction mainly came from rioters

and looters. Soon to become a haven for survivors to rebuild. Each of the remaining cities

naturally separated themselves, creating new tribes of shared loyalties and deeper separation

among the other cities. Most people preferred to live within the comfortable chaos of the city.

And just a few would brave the abandoned remains of an old world. But me? On the anniversary

of my dad’s death, all I wanted was an escape. So now here I stood back on this platform

somewhere between two worlds.

I shuffled down along the tracks, hoping to distract myself from the anger that hung over

my every step. I had only walked a few feet when the sound of laughter interrupted my thoughts.

There ahead of me sat a young family – a mother and father with their two little girls. The parents

leaned into one another amongst the grass and the ivy. And the girls jumped along the rubble and

broken tracks – giggling and tripping over every step. I found myself watching them for a few

moments until one of the girls caught my eye. She beamed a toothy smile with an enthusiastic

wave of hello. I waved back half-heartedly and with a smile that never entirely made it to my

face. I darted my eyes almost immediately and briskly walked away, my walk becoming a run as

I choked back new tears. I ran to the corner of the station, where I let myself collapse onto the

ground and cry. Instinctively, I reached for my necklace to hold, only to find my neck bare. I

frantically began searching around me.

“Your necklace?” I heard a soft voice speak to me. I looked up from my search to see the

same toothy-smiled girl gingerly bend down to grab my locket, now broken open.

“Yes,” I nodded, slowly reaching out my hand to hers.

She cocked her head to the side. “What’s inside of it?”

“Inside?” I don’t think I ever opened it. I never had a picture to put inside. I looked down

at the necklace and found it empty. “Inside?” I asked her again.

I watched her pick a few things off the ground and collect them in her hand. She opened

her palm. A hint of excitement flashed in her eyes as though we had discovered a treasure.

I knelt beside her to better examine what she found. “They are….” I wasn’t sure myself

for a moment. “They are seeds?” I picked them up from her hand. “They are seeds. He put seeds

in the locket?” I was mostly speaking to myself, but the girl nodded along.

My father’s words ran through my head once more: “Love grows where hope is sown.

Keep growing.” I didn’t want to fight the tears this time.

I realized the girl was still looking at me and waiting for me to speak. “What’s your

name?” I asked her.

“My name is Brie.” She beamed with pride.

“Brie, would you like to help me plant these seeds.”