Shanty Town Dream
I’m inside an abandoned shanty town made up of tin sheds and stuff. The roofs all interconnect, dense and well crafted so there’s a solid canopy of either corrugated metal or wood slats everywhere, protecting against the desert sun. I can walk along these little corridors between dwellings for miles before happening upon an opening in the ceiling with a proper view of the dead sepia sky.
I keep finding places that were once homes, places that look like general stores, day cares. Everywhere I look I find these small evidences of people that used to live here. There is a dusty but well stocked library where I hang out and read. I’m finding all kinds of different clothes to wear and tons of canned peaches and spinach and lots of corned beef hash. Everyday I’m exploring and finding new stuff. The Shanty Town provides, and it seems to stretch forever.
I’m returning to my original spot everyday and accumulating useful stuff there, well I was at first, but it’s been a while.
Now I’m not revisiting places much. I just keep a bag of essentials so I can keep walking, finding new places. There’s always more stuff to find, more places to sleep, but everyone’s been gone a very long time.
There’s a ladder up. The patchwork roof extends past the horizon in all directions. I run along the hot roofs until the sun’s glare gets to me, then I climb back inside and walk. It’s easier to spot openings from up there.
I’m running the roofs when I see it against the horizon as the sun is setting. Sometimes I can run for probably an hour without stopping now. I just get in that sort of runner’s trance, listening to my breathing and the clanging echos of my feet. It’s kind of like meditation. I’m lost in thought so it might be there in the periphery for a while before I notice it.
I’m stopping to take it in. A flat topped mountain looming in the far distance. A what do you call it, plateau, rising like an island out of a sea of amalgamated sheds.
The sun is ducking behind it. All across the top lights are flickering on.
Now when I walk or run, or even dream, I do it in a direction: towards the hill. That feels great.
I’m noticing things in the corridors, new smells maybe? What look like fresh footprints, or at least footprints, like maybe there’ve been people here recently, or at least more recently. I have no idea really, I don’t hear anyone or see anything different, I just mainly feel like maybe there’s someone around now.
I’m at the foot of the plateau, and up close it’s more like a sheer cliff face or wall. It’s staggeringly tall, probably two miles, maybe more, unclimbable, at least for me. What am I some kind of climbing expert person? I don’t think I am, to be honest I don’t know who I am or why I’m in this place. But what’s weirder is that I don’t even care for some reason. I just don’t want to think about it. I want to think about those lights.
I found this little abandoned garden, it’s underneath translucent fiberglass panels. It allows just the right amount of humidity to accumulate. There were seeds in a locker, I’m planting them. Tomatos are growing now. God they're delicious. I’m revisiting this place every week or so, sometimes I stay a few days. I’m seeing the evidence of my work, it’s rad. I’m working my way around the wall. I’m hoping to find a way up, but I’ve almost circumnavigated it I think.
I found this locked hatch and hammered it open.
I’m climbing down inside. There are candles here and the air circulates. There’s a generator. Holy shit there’s a room with lamps and they’re on. Someone’s growing pot down here?
I’m leaving immediately. I’m leaving a note, “Sorry about the lock. I didn’t steal anything.”
I want to do a stakeout to see who comes, but the hatch is strategically placed. There’s like four different ways in and the halls leading there all have sharp turns. So I can’t find a place to hide and watch. I hang around this area for a few days, but I don’t see or hear the pot growers.
I’m going back regularly now, basically back and forth between my farm and the pot hatch. I smoke a little of their pot sometimes and leave some tomatoes with a note. “Thanks for sharing.”
My tomatos and notes are always gone when I return. The broken lock has vanished. I’ve started writing them questions.
“Are you from the top of the hill? Is it cool for me to hang out here? Do you want to meet me? What’s your name? Do you maybe know my name or how I got here? No big deal, just curious.”
I never get any notes back. But I have a friend now, or friends. Maybe not friends but I definitely have a someone else now. That feels great. They obviously aren’t pissed about me trading with them, which is awesome. I wish they’d talk to me though. Who knows maybe they don’t speak English? I’ll start drawing pictures. Maybe they’ll draw something back. Then it won’t matter what language they know. First a little doodle of me growing tomatos. A scribble of me smoking their weed. I invent a cartoon version of them. A picture of us hanging out eating tomatoes, getting all smoked out and scaling the rock face together.
Whoever I am it certainly isn’t a cartoonist. The doodle of them looks nearly identical to the doodle of me. We are sort of asexual stick people with the words “Me” and “You” hovering overhead. I don’t want to assume anything. I probably shouldn’t have presumed to draw their imaginary appearance, there’s a million ways that could be wrong, maybe even insulting. They never answer back.
They left some pot here at my greenhouse and took some tomatoes! They didn’t leave a drawing or note, but now I have hot peppers growing because they brought seeds. I’m starting to wake up at night hoping to catch them like Santa or shoe making elves. I’m sleeping light. I’ve been feeling shitty, not sick or anything, just hopeless and dark. This is starting to mess with me. I’m leaving them notes everywhere now.
“Come on guys. I could really use someone to talk to.”
“I’m not a weirdo I’m a pretty cool person I promise.”
I’ve been all the way around the mountain a few times now. I hear far away music drifting down from the lights at the high summit. There are definitely people up there, but I already assumed that. I considered the possibility that the lights were solar powered and running on timers. This confirms people though. That feels surreal. On a windless night there’s a few spots where, if I’m silent, I can hear faint laughter and the raised voices of what sounds like young people.
They left me a little tape recorder with a mic and fucking batteries!
I’m pressing play.
His voice sounds weird. He’s a he. He totally speaks English. This feels awesome.
“I got your notes, your tomatoes are delicious. Yes, I’m from the ‘top of the hill’ as you call it. For as long as anyone can remember we’ve all lived up there. It’s very nice and clean and there’s a shit ton of people compared to here, but you and I can’t get up there. I’m sorry about that. You definitely deserve some answers so I guess I’ll explain. There was a huge war a very long time ago, or at least it was supposed to be a war, but it really turned out to be a disaster for all the countries involved, which turned out to be all the countries in all the world because the weapons wrecked everything.
Long before I was born, people lived down in the shanty sea you’ve been running through. You can obviously tell that already. Sorry. I guess what you don’t know is that all the people lived here, like all the people left in the world. If I had paid more attention in school I guess I’d be able to explain a bit about how they eventually organized and elected leaders. They built a new world up top and eventually left this place behind entirely. It’s a really great bunch of people really, they must’ve evolved or learned from the past. I honestly can’t imagine anyone starting a war or even forming countries up there now. It’s just not the way it works. Now that I’m seeing this place up close it’s really clear to me why things are the way they are, up there. The whole point of society was always cooperation, or maybe not just cooperation, more like avoiding war.
Laws are pretty lenient, but they don’t fuck around about them. They are enforced believe me. People don’t get away with hurting others, or taking advantage of weaker people, but we don’t throw people away in prison either. There are still so few people you see, helping them understand the value of cooperation through rehabilitation is seen as more beneficial than punishment. All the basic fundamental good stuff still applies: no stealing, no raping, people still get married like crazy and the schools are good. They only have a few severe punishments. Nobody would ever be cool with the death penalty. If someone really committed an atrocity they’d just have to leave, and well, they’d have to come live here. I’m the only person who ever received that sentence. So you can see why I’ve avoided responding. I doubt you would want to know that you’ve been sharing this creepy ghost town with a bad person. At first I thought I should avoid you, because you were probably the second person to be sent away, which would make you dangerous. But after observing your behavior, and reading your notes, and laughing at your great drawings, well, I think I’ve figured out what’s going on here.
I’m really sorry about this, you seemed to be enjoying yourself. I really didn’t want to ruin that by explaining, but now I can tell it’s eating away at you, and I know how that feels. So here’s a recorder. I’m giving you this so you can talk to me if you need to.
I only ask two things. Please please please don’t ask me what I’ve done, and if you record a message for me, please don’t listen back to your message or rethink it or edit it. Just send it without overthinking or obsessing. It has felt great knowing you are out here, running the roofs and finding stuff. I’m really sorry you had to find out about me.”
He sounds so lonely and sunken, like he’s let me down. His voice isn’t cool at all, but it’s fine. I was hoping for a cool voice, a deep gravelly wizard tone with an accent. I actually don’t like his voice much, which sucks because I’m so glad to hear it.
I’ve listened to that message over a hundred times now.
I’m hitting record to respond. The first thing I say is of course the worst thing I could’ve said.
“You have to tell me what you did, wait. Shit. No you don’t.”
I’m pressing pause on the recording. Fuck it. I already blew it and asked the one question he didnt want to talk about. Should I leave it? Or should I break the other rule and go back and edit it? I’m obsessing. God damn it. Two rules and I had to break all of them.
I’m pressing rewind.
This thing rewinds quick. He’ll never know. I should ask his name.
I should just press the record button. He can’t have a way of knowing I listened and edited can he?
I’m pressing play.
I’m hearing my voice. I don’t like it.
“You have to tell me what you did, wait. Shit. No you don’t.”
Oh god. I don’t have to ask him anything.
I recognize the voice. I remember him.
The poor bastard who had to go and break the only two rules.
