I remember liking the rain very much. Especially those wild thunderstorms with lightning flashing about. There were times, I can sometimes recall, during high school, when I would stand before a closed classroom door, waiting for a flash of lightning, and then kicking the door open as the thunder followed. It was raining again while I sat there, alone, on the slope of the sunken garden, but there were no doors to be kicked this time. Only small puddles that formed in the blast craters and ditches. There wasn�t even any grass anymore. I remembered many other things � the main library (now flattened), the old grandstand where bands, like my own, used to perform, the roads (now littered with blast craters), and the grass on the sunken garden � as I sat there on its slopes in the rain, ignoring my increasingly damp jeans, watching the droplets discreetly slipping into the blast craters surrounding me, and the makeshift tent city below where I lived. But the war changed that. When they dropped those bombs loaded with GDEs � Gene Decaying Explosives, it was all over. I sometimes wonder why I remember. Why I survived the bombs, and both my parents did not. But always, I find myself turning to my left arm. It was in a state of decay, as if the skin and flesh was falling off it. And I say to myself: Perhaps I didn�t survive. Well, I know that Lena, my older sister did. On nights like these, Resi sometimes joined me, as she brought her father out for air. She was an old highschool friend of mine, two batches below me. We got along quite well. We�d sit at the old grandstand, talking. Her father�s legs were like my arm � in a slow state of self-decay. He didn�t even talk anymore. Sometimes I�d play my guitar, like I used to, when college band performances were not yet obsolete. But it was late, and I was drenched. So I began my short trek back to my tent. It didn�t take longer, since sunken garden didn�t really change its size, but I did have to avoid some blast craters and mud pools. On the way, I remembered that it was on a night like this � rain and all � that the bombs fell. The inside of my tent reminded me of my old room somehow. An old pair of trousers and socks were tossed about on one side, beside the old tapes that I hardly get to listen to nowadays. On the other end, also laid on the ground, were half-eaten cans of military rations we were provided with. Between them, a small puddle of spittle. And of course, there was my old guitar.

When I awoke the next morning, the rain had already stopped, although the air was still somewhat chilly. After rubbing my eyes but not quite clearing them, I sat up. I might have fallen back again, had Lena�s voice not startled me. "I brought something for you," she said. Actually it was more of a whisper. She held out her hand, opened, where she held a card. "Happy birthday." "Thank you," I replied. There was something different with Lena that day. I knew her to be someone who wasn�t exactly the type of girl you�d call perky, but this was different. Her hair was unkempt, and her clothes looked like they just went through a car crash. I took the card and placed it on the ground without opening it. It was a simple hand-made greeting card, with an unremarkable sketch of a mountainscape in front. Lena looked away, turning towards the tent�s exit. I thought I saw tears well up in her eyes. "It�s Mom and Dad�s death anniversary in two days," she muttered. "Do you have any plans?" I raised my decaying arm to my eyes. "I don�t know," I answered. It was my turn to look away. "Should we bother?" There was a pause, and I took that time to ponder what I had just said. Did it matter? I�d probably die next, so what use was it to remember my parents. I�d join them soon enough. At least Lena wouldn�t have to. Maybe I should remember, for her sake. I didn�t tell Lena, but I didn�t really even remember that it was two days from now. "If you don�t want to, let�s not then." Lena finally said. She was still looking away. "I�m going to die anyway." I raised my left arm for her to see. "Don�t say that!" She turned her eyes towards me. They were red. I left my arm just before her face, almost mocking. But Lena turned away quickly. I was sure she was weeping already. "I�m sorry," I said. "I didn�t mean it that way." Was I? Didn�t I mean to mock her? I looked at Lena, sitting there by the tent�s opening, weeping. I wondered what she was thinking. There was another long silence between us. Only Lena�s weeping served as some sort of background music for us. Then she stopped. I didn�t really notice, until she spoke. "The doctors wanted me to see them about your arm." I nodded. Silence. I don�t trust those doctor fools. Not after every single one of my friends who became infected never showed up again. Even my father. "Don�t leave your guitar lying around," she added, as she left. I noticed the pack of supplies she left for me just then.

That night, I was out again, wandering the sunken garden as I always do. The stars were much clearer, with no city lights and buildings around. I missed the grass, though. Some parts were still muddy from last night�s rain, especially near the crater areas. I brought my guitar this time. It didn�t look like it was going to rain anyway. Eventually, I found myself at my usual hang-out: the grandstand. There weren�t any people around. Nobody went out at night anymore, and few even did in daylight. Resi was already there when I arrived, along with her Dad on a wheelchair. She was looking out towards the ruins of the main library, while her father was as silent as always. She was leaning on the casing of an old GDE bomb that didn�t explode. Somehow, there was a look of relaxed dismissal on her. I got another look at his legs. They were truly worse than my arm. The flesh had been torn at several places, and even totally gone at others. If I didn�t know any better, I might have thought a tiger had ripped his legs off. "Hello Resi," I said. She turned towards me and smiled. I could make that much out in the dim moonlight. I walked closer, and laid my guitar down on the side. "How�s your father?" I asked, casting a sidelong glance towards the man in the wheelchair behind. "He�s fine, but he still doesn�t talk," she answered. Her voice was as cool as ever, and she still avoided gazing into another�s eyes. "And you?" "As is." I picked my guitar up and sat down on the ledge. There weren�t even any fires in the tent city. "Still playing?" Resi asked. "Of course." I answered. I began to play, starting with an old U2 song � Acrobat. I wondered where my old college bandmates were now. Looking at the ruins of the library before me, I couldn�t help but think they didn�t make it. Yeah, like I did. It felt somehow strange to look at the library now, considering that I hardly went there when it was still standing. Hell, I hardly went to class either. Me and my bandmates just spent our precious time jamming and working on new songs. We had dreams. I had dreams. "I saw Lena this afternoon," Resi calmly said as the guitar melody floated over us. "She was talking to some doctors. Ever thought of seeing them about your arm?" "Those fools?" I turned my eyes. Her father, sitting there, caught me. I couldn�t make out whether it was the regular rhythm of his chest rising or sinking or the flushed quality to his skin, but there was a seeming clarity to his look. It�s like he�s found all the answers, but won�t reveal them. Perhaps it�s because he just never spoke. His mouth was striking, though. Painted there was a sort of half-grin � it seemed both to mock and to know. My blistered fingers started to sting

I walked back, wondering. Would I end up like Resi�s father? And what would Lena do if I did? I wished it would rain then. At least if it did, I�d just go back to my tent and fall asleep, instead of walking like this over the mud, avoiding water filled craters and all sorts of natural footfalls. It felt strange to look at myself in the reflections formed in the crater pools. There�s this sense of distortion created by the fluidity of the image. But at the same time, my blood-shot eyes, blistered and decaying hand, and pale lips looked so real. It was as if the image was staring back at me. So I stared back in silence.

I knew it wouldn�t be your everyday night when I saw three people in white lab coats standing with Lena by the tent. They were like flies hanging about there when I saw them as I walked back. One was stalking the outside of the tent, always moving, while the two others were just standing there, smoking. I walked straight through them, while only giving Lena a brief glance. They couldn�t expect anything from me. They weren�t exactly invited. But I felt a hand grasp my shoulder. Who the shit does this guy think he is? I turned around. There he was, standing there, eyeing me. "What do you want?" I asked, my eyes shifting through each of the three white-coated men, and then ending at Lena, standing behind them, her head down. "There is something of importance that we must discuss," the man in front of me said. He seemed not to blink somehow. Perhaps it was just a trick of the moonlight. "Well?" "We believe you need treatment." I did not notice one of them move behind me, until the prick of a needle was at my shoulder. Those swines. I quickly slapped him away. But then, all three of them went for me and pinned me down, taking advantage of my decaying arm. I couldn�t let them take me. They�d just do something horrid, I knew. I turned a pleading eye to Lena, who still stood there, not a word escaping her lips. She didn�t even look at me. The needle finally entered my veins. Black began to form around my vision in a few seconds. My eyes were still at Lena, but still, she did not face me. Until I was a second from blacking out. She quietly raised her eyes towards mine. It all moved ever so slowly � the voices of the doctors, Lena�s face, the darkness. There were tears in her eyes.

* * * * *

When I woke up, it was daylight. I was at my tent. The pants and socks, the cans, the tapes were still there. Everything was still there, even the spittle. Except my arm. It ended right before the elbow in a round stump. The hell was going on? Was it a dream of some sort? I wished it was so, trying to convince myself everything was all right. But each time I was close to doing so, the physical absence of the arm would dawn upon me, and I�d be roused from my fantasy. I wandered the sunken garden area, absolutely lost. I needed to speak with Lena. She knew what happened. She could explain. I found her near the grandstand. It was more like she found me, though. I had lost the strength to search for her and just laid down near a blast crater. I didn�t see her, but she quickly spoke when she saw me. "I�m sorry," she said. "They took my arm," I whispered, not turning to face her. I heard her take two steps towards me. "I let them," she said. "You�d have died. Or worse, you �d have infected others." There was no sign of confidence in her voice. Neither was there fear. "Why?" I finally turned to face her. She gave me no answer. Why couldn�t she answer me? Doesn�t she understand? I wouldn�t be able to play anymore. I ran off, leaving her there standing � alone, with her eyes down.

I bumped into Resi. For some reason, I wasn�t all too surprised to have bumped into her. Resi had this knack for dropping in at just the critical moments. Of course, she was pushing her father�s wheelchair, moving ever so slowly. "Are you sure you did the right thing there?" "How do you know what happened?" I asked her, raising my voice. "I�m not blind. How else do you explain that stump there?" I looked at where my arm used to be once more. She should have asked me first. It was my arm. Resi should understand. So I told her this. "If she did," Resi answered. "I might not be talking to you right now." I paused. I didn�t want to discuss it anymore. Resi wasn�t really pressing on the subject either, so we parted at that. With nothing to do, I returned to my tent. There was a note on top of the pile of books. It was written on the back of an old photo of Mother and Father, and Lena and me. Two words were written on the back. I�m sorry. I�m sorry too, Lena.

The next week passed quickly, leaving me with little memories of it. Lena never showed up again. All I did was to stare dumbly at my guitar, and listen to old tapes, waiting for my recorder�s battery to die. Resi was still with her father, and sometimes, she still joined me at the grandstand, or beside crater pools. On a night that she didn�t, though, I found myself near a pool, looking a my reflection. My eyes were no longer blood-shot, and I felt like I saw that look of clarity that I saw on the face of Resi�s father. And I mouthed something into the air. Thank you, Sis.