The lights flickered once then went out and the room went dark; power failure. I took the opportunity to light candles and enjoyed the low-light ambiance until I went to bed.
Morning came, but the power didn't which seemed odd. I worked around it, used the gas burner on the stove to boil water for coffee, and went about my day until a couple hours later I decided to check what was happening with the power which still hadn't come back. My laptop turned on as it had battery-power but no websites worked. I checked my phone and the same, no signal. That's when I wandered downstairs to the street to see if I could catch some information.
The streets were full of people just like me, curious and looking for answers, and small groups had formed within which information was exchanged. I overheard something about an electromagnetic pulse but didn't know what it meant. I also heard that the power might be out for a while. A long while.
As I wandered I felt the mood shifting as that news rippled outward and, before long, I decided it was time to get off the street. I'd not seen any violence but there was an undertone of...distress and uncertainty. Maybe it was fear. I didn't feel safe.
It's been three years since that day and, sitting here surrounded by such natural beauty, it seems almost unreal that things had escalated the way they did.
The looting began more quickly than I'd thought it would as the fear of going without basic necessities settled upon people.
Shop keepers tried to protect their stores and products, the looters became more determined and fear became violence. I locked myself inside; my own fear had risen as the sounds of violence and chaos became louder and I began to despair. It had only been three days but three days without power meant water treatment and gas plants had stopped supply, there was no refrigeration and no communication; the authorities couldn't coordinate efforts to supply the populace with the basics of food and water and people were forced to take matters into their own hands, and people began to die.
It was on day four when the banging started at my door and I sat paralyzed, too fearful to move. I hoped whomever it was would move on but they didn't. Bang bang bang, each sound giving rise to a little more fear...but then I heard my name shouted...and I knew the voice.
Getting out of the city was difficult. It took almost a week and...things happened.
My boyfriend had taken three days to get from his army base to me, and when I realised it was him hammering at my door I'd opened it and run into his arms. He picked me up and held me tight, but broke the embrace quickly, his organised mind quickly telling me what to gather and in almost no time flat we were out the door and making our way through the streets dragging a cart he'd found on the way in filled with our things. I looked back a few times, saw my house disappear behind the smoke of unchecked fires in the street, and looked at the wagon; there wasn't much there...The sum and total of my life was in a cart.
We moved quickly and at first saw others doing the same, but by day two stealth was more important than speed as chaos reigned. We'd hide at night and my man would tell me about what had happened, how the government broke down, military and law enforcement fragmented and fought internally and I wondered if this was how it all ended.
On a few occasions we'd been challenged by thugs with the last ending in violence; there was three thugs that would trouble no one else. On day five we made it to the city limits and, on the sixth, to the small town several miles further where my boyfriend managed to find transport, an old banged up truck under a tarp in a shed.
We headed deep into the hills and the small cabin my boyfriend owned. I loved it there, it was our refuge and we'd be safe there, or so we thought.
It was a beautiful spot set within a forested area with a lake fed from high in the mountains just through the trees beside the cabin. It flowed on down into the gullies below and eventually away and out to the sea. There was game, wild foods and fertile soil; we created an extensive but manageable terraced garden that would easily feed us and provide additional produce for trade.
We'd swim in the lake, naked and happy, and we'd take the little row boat out and float around for hours. We spent long hours in the garden or with the never-ending list of things we had to do, but life was good.
Life is good, I should say.
Over the next months we made trips back into the city to gather supplies. Things had got quieter there and whilst not back to normal society had begun to settle in to what I guess was the new normal without electricity.
Small communities had formed after the initial chaos and some were trading between each other so we'd barter our wilderness-grown produce and the items we crafted or found for what we needed and would head back into the hills to live our lives, just the two of us. We didn't spend much time around people. We were still careful of course and went armed everywhere we went, as did most people these days, and as the months passed we gathered the things we needed from other people or whilst foraging and made our life together in the hills well away from others.
Three years with no electricity and I don't miss it at all.
I wake each day, break my fast with the most beautiful human being I could imagine, a man who loves and knows how to look after me, and we work together, talking or not, then break for a swim or a walk in the forest or to the outcrop of rock a kilometre above our cabin and eat a meal in the mid-afternoon. We'd lay back and share beautiful moments of intimacy, unfettered and uninhibited; I often called it primal. It's a beautiful life, not easy, not sedentary, but one filled with love, togetherness and balance.
Sometimes when we go into town I hear people say they miss electricity; they talk about cell phones, gaming consoles, social media, online shopping, hair driers and computers. I miss none of it. I have a comfortable life, one I have to work for, my handsome, strong and capable man, am surrounded by nature and am the creator of my own future.
I love my new normal.
Becca 💗
This fictional piece is written for week one hundred and ten of the #weekend-engagement concept which you can find here and pinned to the top of the WEEKEND EXPERIENCES community.