Two Birds one Hill

They see birds on the hill. Belly-up with their heads turned sideways. The fact that the birds litter the side of the mountain is unsurprising. The air is heavy here, all the smog from the smouldering boulders ascend and hover over the mountains like a shroudlike-like drapery. Occasionally, you can see some of the birds twitch. 

Today is a Monday, or what they choose to call Monday. The fact is, they have lost track of the days. Tracking the days has been relegated for more pressing needs. Foraging for edible plants, nuts, you know making sure you stay alive. That kind of stuff. They choose to call most days Mondays, after all everybody hates Mondays. With the dreary fog covering the whole landscape, time in itself has been abandoned long ago in the meaningless struggle for survival. The days are all gloomy on the hillside, days of climbing and foraging, they choose to call Thursday, days of rest and little activity, they call Monday. There aren't many Fridays.

He is dizzy from chronic hunger, aching sores all over his body. He picks up his bag and beckons them over. They have been quiet, also suffering from similar symptoms. They rarely speak to him anymore, a hunkering silence hangs between them now. Maybe they're conserving energy. Maybe they've run out of things to say to each other. He has seen them on occasion eat sand when they thought he wasn't looking. That wasn't a good sight. 

The birds are dead, of course, just like every creature that lives on smaller animals. The sight was nothing new to the thought. Whole swathes of land covered with birds, flightless and flying, lying all around. He wonders what killed them. After all, they could fly and cover a lot of distance and escape this wretchedness, he muses. No one cares. It was like when they found the dogs eating what was left of their owners on the way to the hillside. Really, who is to blame? It's not like the dogs were going to starve to death. He dismisses the sheer insanity of their current reality, but they would always look horrified when something like that came up. "What's the collective name of cats? You know like a school of fish or gang of crows. That kind of thing". He just shrugs and keeps moving. He picks up a bird and starts removing the feathers.

A long walk awaits. He carries them on his back, clearing the weeds as they go. They no longer feel sick. A splinter of wood pierced through their foot, and it got infected. But they're okay now, although they can't climb the hill as fast as they'd like. He tends to do whatever they want after they find food, although the stonewalling within meals is quiet and doesn't bother them that much. They traverse the hill as much as they can and rest up to regain energy. They always try to cuddle with him during the cold nights, but it feels awkward now. He starts mumbling something about needing space, and they ignore him intentionally. 

They remember the first time he caught his attention. He had been trying so hard to catch their attention. He came to the Art Residency House, and their fiery performance on the Hypocrisy of Ghanaian Transphobia must've touched him. They were so passionate, and their performance garnered a lot of applause. He was instantly smitten by the fervour of this beautiful person. They didn't give him much attention on that day. Shouting over the music, he told them directly, "I'm trying to hit on you".They were so surprised at his forwardness they froze. 

They have always been attracted to men, but they felt uncertain because there was some confusion about what the difference between transsexuality and transgenderism was. Of course, they absolutely enjoyed the attention coming from a man. They had halted puberty with the microchip device in their arm. He used to joke that they were a cyborg. At the time, it was fairly easy for them to get hormonal shots, even in such a transphobic country. Later on, they had explicitly explained to him their preferred pronouns and how they would like to be treated. He understood and they felt like he was the only one that got them. It was strange how each time they ghosted on him when they were doubtful, he would always remind them of how much he cared and what he was willing to sacrifice for them. He demonstrably loved them, and they appreciated it. He could also strike up deep conversations which they thoroughly enjoyed. They truly felt bonded to him. The dreary atmosphere made everyone depressed, but he sparked some hope in them. Of course, by this time the climate was already getting worse. 

As a general rule, they do not approach strangers. You would think in a post-cataclysmic world, humanity would come together. A pervasive me-first attitude fueled by the culture is deeper than most Ghanaians would like to admit. Most people like to blame the politicians because let's be honest, they don't necessarily inspire confidence. He had been working on the Ghanaian Space Program but had to quit when he learned that the government was trying to use the taxpayer's money to launch a Death Ray Satellite. This kind of misplaced priorities made the entire populace weary of their fellow Ghanaians. In all honesty, he had turned bandit once or twice, so it was best to treat everyone else as an enemy. That is why his silent treatment was so crushing now. They had gone through a lot and they had no one else now.

They made him a makeshift crossbow. In a post-apocalyptic world, a makeshift bow is all you need to look badass. It screams don't mess with me. They never thought their crafting skill could be used to make a crossbow, of all things. When they had first fallen in love they had given up their sculpting workshop. Maintaining the business was draining and they wanted to focus more on their creative side. It had been about two years already since they started staying together. He was so supportive, and they spent more time painting and writing together. They truly hoped they would never need to use the crossbow, but it was wishful thinking. The last November before the Bombardment, he drove them to the foot of the hill. Lots of the people were trying to escape through that route. The government didn't want a mass exodus in such a situation. It was mayhem. But there had been signs things were about to turn ugly the previous week. The president instated a lockdown on Accra and it's suburbs after the first bombardment. It was a bit unclear why there had to be a lockdown apart from the blanket statement "for security reasons". When the boulders fell from the sky, the impact decimated whole areas in Accra North. A mass evacuation seemed to be the obvious solution but no, the government had other reasons. They had experienced childhood trauma and was now happy being with him. This turn of events brought about great anxiety because getting hormonal shots would be near impossible in this State of Emergency. But they always knew that he would care for them. The first sign they chose to ignore, was when he started buying into conspiracy theories. Because information was scarce, it provided the perfect opportunity for conspiracists to manipulate the populace. He bought into a lot of the theories. They were unsettled by his irrational behaviour. His leading theory was that the government had botched the launch of the Death Ray Satellite, and the rubble had fallen back to Accra to cause the Bombardment. There was no way to confirm this theory. The official response of the government was that a meteorite had fallen on Accra and the government wanted to make sure there were peace and security in this situation. Nothing made sense. 

Their face is a terrible thing to him now. They no longer have their hormone shots, and the voice suppressor has stopped working for months after the Bombardment. Their skin has become weather-ravaged and unpleasant. He no longer feels attracted to them. It is as though the one he had fallen for keeps falling away, revealing someone unknown to him. He also feels guilty because it is not fair to them the way he is treating them now. However, he doesn't feel that way anymore. He misses them, in his way. It feels like the person he has been surviving with is completely different. As he carries them on his back, he feels the bulge of their penis against his back. It didn't always bother him. It wasn't their fault they were misgendered at birth. He remembered how he loved their hair, their smell and the way they would laugh at the most trivial things. 

"You're getting heavy", he mutters to them. It occurs to them that all the dead people strewn on the hills must have died recently. They can see the smog thickening as they keep climbing. They get off his back and follow closely, quietly. He stops to catch his breath, but the atmospheric smog is so thick nearing the top he starts coughing. They watch him distance himself and does little to keep up the pace. Ever since the cataclysm, they have always hoped that they would sleep together one night, and stay together in a tight embrace forever. They have always known they're marching slowly towards oblivion, but it was always good to spend these moments with someone you truly loved, having hope in a better future. They finally catch up to him. He looks tired and is sitting, he is trying to suppress a cough. He is also trying hard to wipe off the bloodstain on the crossbow. Why he chooses this time to do that, beats them. They awkwardly get close to him and says, "It's okay, it wasn't your fault. They would have done worse things to me if you were not around." He starts sobbing quietly and allows them to hold him in a tight embrace. They gently rock him and asks him to look up. The sky is dark, and there are no stars in the thick smog, but it feels like something up above is beckoning them. They feel his breath slowing, and they hope that today will be the long night.