The old primary school sat half-swallowed by tea trees, the oval gone to spear grass and rabbit holes with no one to tend it. The groundsmen left it to ruin without an apology, but then, the virus moved so fast that no one had a chance to ask for forgiveness, whatever the travesty. Wind pushed through broken classroom windows instead, with the sigh of someone who'd given up correcting grammar well before lungs stopped coughing.
Nina lived there alone, but for the magpies, who were particularly annoying when the moon was full, carolling outside the window. There was also a fat blue-tongue lizard in the rocks outside the library. Neither brought solace.
In the principal's office, arranged with almost religious precision, sat her collection.
Three cowrie shells. Twenty-seven buttons, three made of pearl and two of wood. A marble the colour of a storm. A silver teaspoon made into a ring. Five feathers - one of a black-tailed cockatoo, and four of unknown birds. Two keys that opened nothing.
Nina could not undissolve governments or reopen hospitals, or turn the power back on, but she could arrange these precious things neatly on the desk and control a tiny, tiny part of her world.
Marbles did not summon her dead mother and buttons were forlorn as they waited for shirts that would never return, but they could be worried in the hands, over and over.
Occasionally, Nina walked to the cliffs and looked out to sea, hoping for someone to appear on the horizon. The sea had not cared about the virus. It still arrived. It still left. Nothing had changed about it at all.
Nina collected shells because they reminded her that the world could still make beautiful things. She was sometimes glad there were no people to beachcomb for evidence of themselves, because the treasures were all hers: a child's gumboot, a tangled piece of fishing line, a blue spaceman missing one arm, perhaps from a cereal box or a Kinder Surprise. The faded skeleton of a beach umbrella she propped up and made a tent of, draping it in beach towels.
Once, during a storm, a green Woolworths shopping trolley had rolled its way down to the sea.
Perhaps it was sick of waiting for the fishmonger.
She laughed at the thought. It startled her. Apart from the kookaburras, she had forgotten the sound of laughter.
The virus hadn't killed everyone. That was almost worse. It had simply left enough, so that Nina could hear generators humming in distant valleys or glimpse smoke on some mornings and miss people at the same time she feared them. People travelled suspiciously now, and she was suspicious of them.
One man tugging at her skirt was enough.
She had hidden for a week before he moved on.
Every stranger carried the possibility of another threat. The first virus had taught the country many things: wash your hands, keep your distance, trust no one. By the second and third waves, trust was extinct. Her father had choked out many warnings before he left: eat the fresh food first, and be alert were two.
She found the boy in the Bunnings car park. Not the building - that had burnt down the summer before. The wide, expansive, hot car park, perched under the thin shade of a tree planted amongst the yellow lines. Australians, it seemed, still knew where to meet.
He was younger, and thinner. Sunburnt, as if he had never been taught to wear a hat. He was holding a biscuit tin, the kind that came out at Christmas. He raised one hand.
"I won't come closer."
"I won't let you," she said.
They regarded each other across the lines.
"What've you got?" she called.
He held up the tin and rattled it.
"Treasures."
She almost laughed again. It seemed silly coming from someone else's mouth. She knew that her own collection were not real treasures, though she treasured them dearly. She didn't laugh, meeting him with the same seriousness.
"Show me."
Slowly, carefully, he tipped it onto the asphalt. There was a plastic dinosaur, just like her little brother once played with. She had been too scared to go back into her old house to retrieve it. There were bottle tops, green and red and blue. At least fifteen marbles, two dominoes, a coin with a hole in it, a tattered feather, some polished stones.
A single pink button.
He looked embarrassed and rolled it over to her. It spun in a wide arc, hit a piece of gravel, and careened to a halt. She picked it up and quickly put it in her pocket.
"I know they're useless."
"They're not. I collect things too."
His shoulders lowered a fraction. He set up six marbles and tossed her the largest one, which she rolled to hit each in turn. After a while, she edged closer, wanting to see what else was in the tin.
Old habits outlived old diseases.
The next week, they traded. He gave her the pink marble and she gave him a whole reel of fishing line and an unopened pack of hooks. A pen with glitter inside for a brass button with a coat of arms on it.
They never spent more than ten minutes on this serious exchange, cautiously distant. She brought her own tin and shook it in greeting. They barely spoke. They had forgotten how, or perhaps had never known. She was only 12 years old, and was not practiced in the art of conversation, assuming that he was alone, because she was.
Once, he asked if she lived by the sea. She did not answer, because of the man tugging at her skirt. Feeling ungracious, she brought him two pieces of sea glass, one blue, one green. He held them to his lips as if to taste the salt there.
One day, the car park was empty.
She eyed the car park cautiously. Perhaps he was late. She stood clinging tightly to her tin. She had found two Matchbox cars on the beach that week and was longing to see if he had something for her. She had hoped for a needle and thread. Buttons could not stay on desks or in tins when there were things to mend.
There was a newcomer to the carpark, and Nina's heart beat fast in her chest. She would run like hell this time. Experience made you wired and ready.
'Are you her?' the woman said, her face dark under a wide-brimmed hat. She had his broad nose and green eyes.
"I'm his friend," she said cautiously. "I'm waiting for him."
The woman held out the boy's tin.
"He won't be needing this," she said, sniffing. "I'm sorry."
She coughed twice, and Nina moved away instinctively from the offered tin, knowing it might be dangerous to touch. Careful, she heard her father say. He never did apologise for leaving.
The woman shrugged and placed the tin gently on the ground. Nina watched her move slowly across the car park and out of sight.
The wind moved through the leaves of the lone tree. In the distance, the sea did its work on the shore, bringing in new treasures. Still arriving, still leaving. Still polishing broken things so that they could be held without cutting your hands.
This post was written in response to The Inkwell's theme this week 'sorry'. Photos are words are my own.
On a side note, I just went looking for something to read in the community, and was shocked to find that nearly every single one had an Ai image. I struggled to find two to read that didn't. If I see an Ai image in a creative writing community I worry that the content isn't original either! I'm so fed up with Ai everywhere - what are your thoughts on this?
Ive been off Hive for a wee while... I had a post series all lined up and just couldn;t start the first one so didn't. Silly ADHD brain lost the mojo and Hive simply vanished from my head. voting and all... but im thinking i might be back now i have hive pinned into my open tabs. all 200 or so of them (no jokes) I don't mind AI for SOME things... but i like to be told. Don't go and pretend that you painted the picture, or took a photo... or whatever when it was AI.
AI is a good tool when used correct, but allows people to really do some crappy work.
Ive been looking a lot over last few weeks into AI and the future and jobs, and creative persuits, and i think at some point we are going to have to find a way to curate "real" content, like find ways to proove authenticity and "realness".
Im not "sick" of AI, i am worried about how we manage it. I AM sick of AI crap though. I am a subscriber to a graphic design board. and 1 year ago everything was beautiful and curated and gorgeous. now.... all i want is a filter to turn of the 1000 bots that are spamming the pages with 30 second prompts in midjourney of "image of a cat" and they sell it on the board as "original hand painted art" we all know thats midjourney... where are my real artists gone?
but i am certainly interested in how the world is going to maintain and harness it. If we don't its going to be a short ride to the ends of the humanity.
I spent a bit of time on posts, and don't vote if i think its AI... i actaully look. but i am getting sick of needing to... surely there should be an easier way.....
Yes, like Temu products in Etsy or AI music. Glad Tidal and Spotify have both taken stances on this, particularly Tidal.
uggg... temu... and etsy i used to get patterns from. These days i have to be VERY careful that i know the pattern maker to ensure its not a "make me a leotard pattern".. i don't expect to go on Spotify and find "make me a piece of classical music" music. I have never heard of Tidal. (just looked it up). I wish Creative Fabrica would stop it... instead they have even welcomed it... every second search result is sloppy crap. it used to be so curated. Hoping this boosts people who DO do things properly. somehow.
Ditch Spotify. Tidal is mjuch more ethical.
ill check it out... ive just had spotify for so many years... never thought to change it...
That's what they rely on - loyalty!
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I love this story, but it made me cry. I just wanted so badly for her to have that friend, and for both of them to be survivors together. This is one strong and resilient young lady, though. At the end, I felt confident that she'll pull through and find her way.
You write so beautifully, @riverflows. This story is so rich with wonderful sensory details... buttons and trinkets and shells. These treasures all seem very grounding in a world gone awry.
About AI images... yeah, that's a tough one. Here in The Ink Well, I'm generally just looking at the quality of the writing and shrug at whatever image the writer chose. For my part, I sometimes generate images when I just can't find the thing I'm looking for on Pixabay, Pexels, etc. Or I finally find what I want on one of those sites and it's a "premium" image. What the...? But with a prompt I can create the exact atmosphere and scenario I'm going for. It actually feels like a creative process — writing the prompt, choosing an image style, refining my request, etc. Certainly more creative than picking something from a lineup on Pixabay. And you know what else? I'm starting to see a lot of AI generated images on those image sites. So, selecting an image from Pixabay et al is no more work and will sometimes result in choosing an AI image created by someone else.
I'm not defending the use of AI, especially when it's the lazy way out, and when it deadens people's creativity, but as I mentioned in our private chat, I see the benefits of using it with discretion. My personal use of AI is always about enhancing my creativity, giving me new ideas, expanding my thought processes, teasing out different ways of approaching a writing prompt, getting editorial feedback, etc. (Seriously - I'll ask an AI to give me ideas for ways to make a story more suspenseful, for example, and then toy with all the ideas it suggests. Very fun. And um... somewhat addictive.)
It's so kind of you to pop by, @jayna - I know you're busy and you didn't have to. Thanks so much.
I get this, absolutely. I totally get it. And early on, I loved Ai images in the same way you do. I just can't reconcile it with the other things that bother me about Ai use.
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If I find AI, I just skip it.
As part of the community rules I HAD to comment on two others or id be reprimanded!
Oh you! We have everyone do that so there's mutual support. In the past we had people just pop in and drop their content and expect all kinds of love without doing anything to support others. So we made it a standing requirement to be curated by the admin team. 🙂
Haha I know! I just meant I absoulely didn't have the option to 'scroll past' images with Ai despite my moral objection to them.
Man, what a sad ending. But to be expected in an apocalyptic environment. I was really getting into it and then ...BAM! He was gone.
Such is the way of things.
That's a great ending. Sharp and visceral. For a long time reading, I thought Nina was much older. She's wiser than her years, as they say. I can't say the ending was a complete surprise though. You're someone much too imaginative for "they made friends for life".
As for AI, I feel the same. Even if it's not a creative post, I'm turned off by the AI imagery everywhere. Have you noticed now everyone (brand,gym,event, anything) seems to be using those same-looking AI advertisements for whatever product they're offering? How on Earth is that supposed to make you stand out...
Ha no way, the boy had to die and she will be alone for many, many years, until one day, a stranger arrives by sea...
I'd think Nina would have had to grow up fast, fending for herself and seeing so much death, whilst at the same time, clinging to childhood things to comfort her.
Oh those ads and logos! I'm the troll on Facebook telling people to stop it. They're terrible. I don't care what people's excuse is. We used to get along fine without it.
I feel very fortunate to be here in this place (I mean Hive), but even more fortunate to have the chance to read this story and to be able to tell its author directly that she is a treasure and has truly made my day. Thank you.
Oh gosh thanks ever so much!!!
The story may have a sad ending, but it’s really lovely and well told, and I truly value that. I also liked that bit at the end… about AI. I’d just seen a WhatsApp status from an artist who described his work with AI. Awful… it makes me angry to see so little creativity, and not only that, but the laziness.
Ah, btw, sometimes I can’t write long comments because I’m juggling things here with the electricity. Even my posts are getting fewer and fewer.
Thank to you!
Oh man yeah there's been a few of us raving about it all week!
Another great story! It has left me feeling sad and lonely though. I wish she could og live with the mother, assuming that is who the woman was.
Gorgeous ending!
I was pleased with that last line! It didn't even occur to me that she would go with the mother. Her coughing was meant to imply she would be dead soon too. Nina is going to circle that tin for days wondering if it's safe to even touch. One day, though, when she is perhaps 20, there will be a visitor that arrives by boat....
Wow... what a powerful story! Since our current world is already rather dystopian (but in a different way, granted), I normally don't gravitate towards that genre in stories or movies. But, since you (one of my favorite authors on Hive) wrote it, I read it. And I liked it. You concentrated on the holding of things, not the loss of things, and I had a tin of "treasures" of my own as a child (and even have such nowadays, to be perfectly honest). I definitely identified with that girl in the story, and I liked how the story slowly unraveled like the thread of an old sweater to reveal the stitches that comprised the tale. Kudos! ✌️
I don't mind AI-generated/assisted images. They're fine, as long as they are cited as such. But I do not like AI-writing. And yeah, in a "creative writing" group, AI should definitely not be allowed, at least not in the writing part of posts. I'd much rather see a split infinitive or a dangling participle and know it was human-written than to read drivel that, halfway through or so, you stop and realize, "Hey... this crap is AI" 😒
I think little treasures are familiar to all of us, aren't they? Even as adults. I pick up shells off the beach and smile to find them in coat pockets where if forgotten them.
I think of outsiders to Hive coming in and seeing a ton of AI images. I don't think it creates a good impression. Besides, I want to see human elements. We all have phones, we can all take photos - anything but AI, please! Personally, I won't comment on any post who uses an obvious AI image now, so as much as I would have liked to read and engage with more Inkwell stories, I just can't.
They also use a ton of resources to cool those massive data centres which are popping up everywhere, so really it's a moral issue as well for me. X
I haven't read your story yet...just the postscript. Hallelujah! OMG, it's becoming a form of visual abuse. These are so formulaic, so transparently syntheses of other people's thoughts. It hurts my eyes. I don't think use of an AI image indicates AI writing. Often it indicates weak writing. Writing for which an author could not be bothered to come up with an original image.
What does it take to slap your own photo on top of a story? What does it take to click on Pixabay and come up with an image? Why would you delegate your creativity, your idea to someone or something else? We grow up (that is, mature) with a desire to be independent, to be ourselves. And then we turn that long struggle for autonomy over to another entity ??? I don't get it.
You see, you hit a really sensitive issue for me.
I was thinking about this yesterday, how people are just giving up to it. Here, take what little brain I have left, I'm sick of thinking make my life easy, make me money. I don't need to read, to craft, to discover for myself. Its awful to realise (yet again) that for the vast part, humans are lazy, easily manipulated, too ready to give up who they are and who they can be.
It's a sensitive one for me too. I have learnt a lot about it, and I understand how to use it, and U HAVE used it, so I have perfectly good authority to argue that it is something that must be restrained, checked, monitored and in most cases, rejected entirely.
OK, so I read the story, and I thank you. I thank you for the sensitivity. For the insight. For the craft. I thank you for the moments of grace that you offered by introducing me to a twelve-year-old survivor.
You leave no unanswered questions. With clear, economic precision, you offer the circumstance of this child's life. Child--we are surprised when we learn of her youth. Stunned, shocked, made aware poignantly of her isolation, of her vulnerability.
The details you offer that tell of menace. Meager, powerful details. A man tugging at her skirt. A repeated image that tells all.
This is brilliant. You are a gifted writer.
@agmoore Thanks so very much for reading it and your lovely comment. Did you ever read Z for Zachariah? I had her in mind with the man tugging at her skirts.
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Well. That doesn't happen often!
What a beautiful haunting story of this post-apocalyptic world.
The details are wonderful and the prose paints a beautiful yet desolate world where the presence of others brings comfort but also danger. I get the impression that the protagonist cherishes her solitude, but at the same time yearns for meaningful contact, while remaining a tad suspicious of anyone who approaches her side of the beach.
Beautiful tale on a lonesome shore.
Aw, thanks. I appreciate you taking the time to comment.
Wow... what an extraordinary story. The way you tell a story makes me feel as though I am directly involved in it. I’ve learned so much from your storytelling style.
Thank you so much for writing a story that is not only beautiful but also leaves a deep impression in me.
Ai everywhere, at some point I guess you'd get desensitized enough that when you see it, you'd sigh but wouldn't care.
I read through some stories here, looking for one who clicks with me that I can comment on, not particularly the image (since this isn't an art or picture group but the words.)
I do understand the bias against AI images, heck sometimes I use them myself when what I'm trying to create on Canva isn't working out or I don't have a random picture taken myself or from pixabay to help clear the stump
Sometimes they do, sometimes I settle.
Yet again, I do notice that the posts I comment on, majority don't have an AI image😂😂
Or if they do, the stories are extremely good, example is your story here which is simply marvelous.
So I do understand your fear on the author's genuity.
I hear you, I was at that point too where I would use an Ai image if I couldn't find one. Not anymore though - it's just lazy. We could find images before! Even if they are Pixabay or whatever, with attribution to an actual photographer.