The first with a name

We have three figures
The mother
The elder son
The younger daughter
The mother is represented by a woman in her early forties
The son eleven
The daughter eight

They live in a shattered house surrounded by a shattered neighbourhood
Decline is evident in the buildings
The stones themselves lean into the ground, awaiting death and oblivion
The trees are dead
Twisted skeletons of their former shapes
Colour baked out of every painted surface leaving a pale pallor
Our three citizens have not seen any other figures in years

The red sun lights a menacing midday
In the kitchen the mother washes dishes
Shoulders slumped, eyes tired, movements slow
In the living-room the children at play throw things at each-other
The son has some minimal understanding of general dynamics given his age
The daughter does not
She throws a tattered cushion which flies well wide of its intended target
It strikes a vase squarely where it stands on a side-table
A ceramic crash
Stillness
The children await furious chastisement
Unexpectedly without anger in her voice, the mother sighs
– Go outside.
The daughter looks from her brother to her mother in the kitchen, and back again
– Go.
The mother repeats
The son rises from where he kneels and heads to the door
The daughter watches him as he exits
– Go.
The mother repeats again, still without any force or tilt
The daughter follows her brother

— Good one.
The son mutters once the door has been shut, though he doesn’t wholly blame her
She blinks, and begins walking
— Where are you going?
— Walk.
At eight, he wonders at her habit of single-word responses
Communicating with the barest minimum of oration
— Don’t get lost, you’ll get in trouble.
He wants her to stay with him
The yard with no fences is dull without a playmate
— So.
She walks away
He follows

In the house the mother sets down the dish in her hand
It clunks in the sink full of water
She feels like weeping but is unable to summon the effort
Instead she turns, dries her hands, and goes to the bedroom
She slowly sits down on the bed
Then lays herself carefully down, eyes wide open
Dim red shadows under the light of the sun
The sound of an exhale rasping in her throat
She closes her eyes

The daughter walks with no purpose
The surrounding neighbourhood consists of shattered houses and shattered towers
The towers were once high-rise tenements, halfway between middle-class condominiums and commission flats
Some of the houses have been reduced to rubble
So too some of the towers
Her steps often dislodge stones and earth to clatter among the debris
When she comes to a particular barrier to her passage, she either gingerly reaches her legs and arms to move, or stops to survey a different path
Her brother is less certain with his steps
— Where are you going?
He asks
— Don’t have to come.
— I’m telling on you.
She doesn’t respond
Stopping ahead of him, her path is blocked by an impassable tower of twisted steel
She stands and stares, then turns around
Walks past her brother without looking at him
He stays where he is, wondering at whether she travels with confidence or ignorance
Nevertheless, her candour is frightening him
He turns to follow her, quickening his steps over the debris
No longer comfortable trailing behind her, he moves almost at her side
Slowly they pick their way towards the towers
— You shouldn’t go in there.
She stops
— Why?
— It’s dangerous.
— Why?
Pause
— Because… it is.
Pause
Silence
— Because people died here.
— I know.
— There was a war.
Nothing
— Like a big fight.
Still nothing
— People died.
Still nothing
She turns around
— Don’t have to come.

Between five towers there is a wide yard
In the centre there are the shattered remains of children’s play-equipment
They are made of timber and plastic
The timber is blackened by fire and decaying
The plastic, where not well-formed, is bubbled and curled from scorching heat
Some which had liquefied sometime in the past has dripped down onto the wood
Bright colours tainted by black to form cancerous bulbs of re-hardened chaos
More skeletons of trees
The children stand away from it staring
Then the daughter walks towards one of the towers
— You shouldn’t go in there.
Now the son is afraid
The daughter pays no attention
— I’m going back.
Still nothing
— I’m telling ma.
Still nothing
The conviction in his voice is not of betraying his sister, but of his own fear
Fear of this place
Fear of his sister’s fearlessness
— I’m going back.
He says finally, and turns around
But he won’t go home
The mother will ask him why he left his sister
He kicks at the dirt in slow deliberation, then turns around
His sister is gone

The daughter looks at the concrete stairs
She has entered the ground-floor of one of the towers
All manner of objects litter the stairs and the landing at their foot
Slowly climbing the stairs, there are signs of haste everywhere
The walls are scorched in places
In others, marked and scored by some powerful force
Her footsteps are quiet
She continues to climb until a large object blocks the stair which she cannot climb over
Backing to the landing, she chooses to walk down a dim hall
There are doorways on either side
Some gaping and devoid of their doors
Some with doors smashed from their hinges, both in and out
Very few with tattered doors in-place
Then a sound
She stops still
Silence
Again, a sound
The sound of a single drip, spattering on the floor
She slowly moves toward a door-less apartment entry
The sound grows louder

Outside the boy sits on a cement block, knees tucked under his chin
Waiting

Drip
At the door the girl stops
The apartment before her is dim and has less debris strewn about it than some she has passed
There are sofas and arm-chairs still placed square with the walls
Material frayed and torn, forming complex shadows in the gloom
She steps into the room
Drip
She stills
Silence
Drip
She looks towards the kitchen
A tiny shadow falls from the ceiling against the curtained and red-glowing window
Drip
She moves slowly to the kitchen
Drip
A few paces from where the girl stands, a liquid is slowly gathering from an exhaust vent in the ceiling towards the wall of the kitchen
Drip
It falls to the floor
Drip
She bends down and looks at where it falls
Drip
Strangely, there doesn’t seem to be a puddle
Drip
She steps around the spot where the liquid spatters and reaches for the curtains
Scrape, as the curtain-pegs move across the railing
The kitchen brightens
She turns around to look at the apartment under the greater light
The sound again
Drip
She looks down
The liquid seems to drop down onto the synthetic floor
Drip
Then it disappears in a vapour
Drip
She moves closer to the spot on the floor and looks closely
Drip
And sees that the liquidis red

The boy’s impatience grows, but so too does his dilemma
He considers which action his mother would deem more foolish and thus garner the greater punishment
That he did not restrain his sister from entering the building
That he did not accompany her
Or that he did not immediately report it to his mother
He rises from where he is but can not decide on an action
Again he kicks at the dirt

The girl looks up again at the vent where the red liquid is gathering, then down at the floor
Drip
Then the wisp of vapour
No puddle, no stain
Young though she is, she understands the basic general dynamics of liquids, in evidence by the leaking roof in her home
Drip
She considers the main stair-well but recalls the blockage and decides to look for an alternative way to go up

In the house the mother opens her eyes
She is suddenly aware of the sound of her own breathing
Seems to sense a presence in the room
By her own logical reasoning she decides that there cannot be a presence in the room, and closes her eyes

At the end of the hall there is an empty door-way
Beyond there is a narrow stair-well
The girl decides to go up to the next level
The door on the next level is present, but moves with a screech as thin metal hinges not moved in years grind against one-another
Slowly she walks down the hall, counting doors as she passes them
She enters the apartment directly above the one she had been in
Again, the apartment has little debris strewn about it
There are no curtains at all though, and the objects are slightly more visible
She enters the apartment, walks to the centre of living-room
An exact copy of the apartment below
The girl stills herself and listens
At first she can hear nothing
Then faintly she hears it
Drip
Drip
Coming from the apartment below
She slowly steps toward the kitchen

There leaning against the cabinets on the floor, is a figure
Slumped forward in a sitting position, it has the look of ancient decay
The body is covered in dust and small pieces of debris
Yet pooling at one of its feet is the same red liquid the girl has seen
The floor at that spot seems to have been burned away revealing a thick and dark space
In the darkness she can make out the shape of the vent
Drip
Drip
— People died here.
She says

And there is a presence in the room
The mother half-rolls her body and sits upright
Sitting in a chair in the corner of the room is a man
– Oh my god…
She begins to hyperventilate
He says nothing
– Oh my god… Oh god… what do you want?
Silence
He lets her continue to pull in her breaths until she feels the slightest tinge of strain
She slows her breathing
—- Have you acknowledged by now that I will not harm you?
Breathing
Slowing
– What do you want? Who are you?
A short exhale through the nose
Did he laugh?
—- Who am I? That’s a very interesting question.
Not an answer
– What do you want?
—- Your daughter has a name.
Confusion
– A what?
—- Your daughter has a name, your son knows it.
Confusion
– What are you talking about? No-one ever had names…
—- Oh? I have a name, though I doubt you’d recognise it.
Pause
—- I’ve always had a name. Would you like to know it?
Pause
– I don’t understand – how will a name… of what use will it be to me?
—- Do you know what happened here? What happened in this war?
– Some. My husband, he…
Pause
—- You’ll see your husband again, though he’ll be much changed when you do.
– My husband is dead.
—- You should know that in this place, nothing dies, as your daughter is finding out as we speak.
Halt
Rising panic
– Where is my daughter?
—- Worry not, she and your son will come back – eventually.
– What have you done to them?
—- It has little to do with me. At the same time it has everything to do with me.
– Nothing you’re saying makes any sense.
—- Indeed – I often wonder at that myself.
– Please, where is my daughter?
Inhale
Exhale
Inhale
—- She’s currently standing over the corpse of a woman killed in the war.
Horror
A hand to the mouth
– You said nothing dies…
—- A little misleading I suppose. I wouldn’t worry about it, the woman is indeed dead.
– You said…
—- Your daughter was curious as to why the corpse still bleeds.
– … why does it?
Inhale
—- Someone is coming. He’s looking for me and I’ll need you to tell him what happened here.
– Coming… here?
—- Yes.
– No-one comes here. There’s no-one here… but my children and I…
—- He’s coming with a woman and they’re both looking for me. The man; his name is Nav, he can explain to you what all of this is.
– I don’t understand.
—- Then don’t. Reject it if you wish; he will come nevertheless.
Pause
Silence
—- You have a question?
– I have many questions…
—- But the one you really want to ask…
Pause
– My husband? Is he…
Pause
– Is he…
Pause
—- The man who is coming is not your husband, nor does he know anything about him. As for your husband, at first you’ll most likely think he’s someone else entirely. If you give him the chance, you’ll find he’s still very much your husband, but very much changed.
Another short exhale through the nose
—- If you’re still as agile as you once were, I think you’ll eventually find him quite to your liking. I know your daughter will.
Quick reflections on her own past
The man’s use of the term agility, and his seeming familiarity with her own life
It feels invasive, and she feels vulnerable
—- And here I thought you’d like the company after being in this wasteland for so many years.
Sharp inhale
As if he can read her thoughts
—- It will all make sense in time. Trust me in this one thing, though I know you have no basis on which to form trust in me; you and your children will only ever become more safe from this day onwards.
Pause
Silence
She doesn’t understand a thing
He stands
The woman begins to back herself up against the bed-head
—- One last thing. Tomorrow morning when you go outside to the well, you’ll find a patch of dandelions – even if you crushed them all, they’ll come back the next day, and in greater number. It is, like your daughter’s name, part of the beginning of great changes that are going to happen. I’ll leave you now. I think I’ve caused you enough agitation for one day.
– But…
She merely blinks, and he is gone

In the yard the boy has been pacing, scattering the dirt, stone and debris as he moves
Then an overwhelming sense of companionship forms in his mind
Emotions and motivations he has never felt before
He turns to face the tower and yells at the top of his lungs
– Marion!
In the kitchen the girl hears the name as clear as if her brother had been standing behind her
She turns on her heel and walks from the room