The Lightkeepers

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pictures of family vacations or birthdays. There were scenes depicting places that didn ’ t exist

anymore, people that were no longer around.

Even worse, the pictures showed something that could never exist in this world: happiness,

ease, comfort, safety.

Tears pricked my eyes. For the first time in a long time, the weight in my chest fled and

the vise-grip on my heart loosened. Staring at these photos made it seem like everything was

alright. It was as if I was sitting in my forgotten living room, flipping through a scrapbook. For

once, the outside world melted away. I no longer heard the distant moan of approaching zombies,

or felt the ever-present grittiness that had settled over my skin. My hands became smooth and my

clothes were proper. The girl in front of the camera could barely keep a straight face as Ellie leaned

on her, whispering something in her ear. I couldn ’ t remember what happened to that girl. She was

one of Ellie ’ s friends, but I hadn ’ t seen her before the world sank into disrepair. More tears came

and fell silently as I studied the photo taken at my middle school graduation. A more recent photo

showed Ellie and I going to homecoming my sophomore year. Another recent picture showed

Ellie, Henry, and me standing on a soccer field after one of her games. Ellie would have graduated

high school that summer. Henry would have graduated from college the following spring. I

would ’ ve had two years to go that fall.

It seemed odd to have these photos, some taken just months before this chaos. They were

all in color, except for the one of my grandparents ’ wedding. For some reason, it felt like they

should all be in black and white. They all seemed decades old. Each showed a life that I barely

remembered. I wondered how long it had really been since this started.

My eyes became heavy. I let my eyelids fall shut and for the first time in a long time, I

slept without nightmares.