The Lost Souls

The calm before the Storm

The sky is foggy; milky mist weaves around greyish trees in a broken forest. Branches lay dead, grovelling to the ground and only bristling in the sudden winds. The fog never clears up once it appears. It seems like that, because it takes so long. The wind is less angry, it doesn't rattle the window, it just howls, in agony. It seems regretful for tearing everything down in its tantrum.

The branches which lay on the floor have been stripped raw from the storm and muddy brown leaves cake the earth, piling up on each lawn of those mostly abandoned houses. It's still cold, the chill seeps into the broken homes, but it's less chilly than the night before. They have blacked out holes and broken glass, like a fight broke out before they left. They're haunting; I don't like to look at them at night. They look so sad and lonely, like someone should belong there.

I wonder what happened to those people. What were they like? If I ever saw them, I don't remember. Were they quiet? Were they loud? Was the shattered glass an accident? I shiver. I've been staring too long. Even in the day, looking at them makes me feel weary. I imagine someone to be living there, but no one does. A house shouldn't look so lonely, even if it is more a shack than a house.

The wind spits out the fog, making it thicker. It ascends higher, to the canopies of the brittle trees, those which are still standing. Leaves fall even when it's not winter, simply because the weather is so lethal, so powerful. It's wreckage outside. Nothing is new. Everything is old. Beaten down and brutally destroyed. It's like; nature is under construction and trying to redecorate.

There are only a few houses with a couple or a small family. I see kids in that rust covered park a few blocks away sometimes. But not many. Neighbours don't talk much, the odd few words, but mainly everyone just keeps to themselves. There is no community. You don't see one neighbour borrowing a packet of sugar from another. You see, everyone is waiting to die, because there isn't much else to wait for. Everyone dreads a growth of this fading population.

This is Sin, a home for the depressed, the suicidal, the neglected, you name it. The population has been wasting away for a few hundred years now. It decreases much further every year. It's like wandering where the outcasts go, and if there are others. Sin is Virtue's evil twin sister, a group of outcasts that accepted they had no place in the oh-so holiness of Virtue and moved to a decaying land instead.

There's a story I've heard. People became tired of civil unrest and all the problems which came with it, so the government came up with a plan to erase the problem. Those who wanted to stay and benefit from all that the Society could give them would have to stop the fighting. Those who didn't separated themselves from the ones who did. They were then appeased, but appeasing hardly ever gains interest. Those who refused to stop, those who kept on causing unrest, fighting, rallying whatever, were asked to leave before the New Year. If they didn't, Society would use a death penalty, it was announced as a crime that could never be undone. Some died, some fought but mostly, people moved, to Sin.

Virtue was born on the New Year, they created laws which made violence illegal. It worked, people listened, and they obeyed. Why? Because people are greedy for prosperity, especially when there is less competition.

So Sin and Virtue became two separate places, for two different types of people. Sinners are the people who don't belong to Virtue, we don't qualify. We're not good enough for their "holiness". We are Hell on Earth. They are Heaven on Earth.

The Virtuous are wealthy, happy, healthy, the Virtuous are perfect. Virtues for all that they claim to be, seem cruel to me. But what does it matter? I'm a Sinner. My opinion doesn't matter. I don't fit in, I'm an outcast. In their eyes, I'm broken. And I guess because they told me I'm broken, I believe I'm broken.

My days and nights are mostly simple, quiet and mysterious; I light my honey-coloured candles when the storm wipes out the electricity. Education here is tight, recreation is mainly nonexistent. There is an abandoned library somewhere in the inner sectors of Sin, but I would never risk going there. It gets more dangerous the further you go in. The less trouble I get myself into, the better. I live on the outskirts, a house nearby to others but not cramped next one. I hate the idea of being squashed into a tight space. I'm more comfortable with how close I am to the forests; they're a 10 minute walk away and promise tranquillity on rare days. I check the forecast every night with the moon so I know if it will rain. I like watching the rain, but being in a muddy, unkempt forest with rain pouring over me still scares me.

Night falls, my dinner is soup from a can. It's not bad, nor is it good but its filling. Food in Sin is just as bland as the people. There's a store for all those things a few blocks away, some people here actually do want to make a living. Surprisingly.

While it does sound all depressing living in a place like Sin, not all people are depressed. You can see hope in their eyes. They regret Sinning, they regret leaving the safe Haven of Virtue. They work, they make a living, but I've never come across someone who smiles. Smiles don't come easy.

I think I belong here. I think it because the dark clothes fit me. I think it because I don't have a problem with what the food tastes like. But I think I also think it because I don't know any other place.

And I wonder if I could one day see the highly praised Virtue, would I change my mind about belonging here?

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