A Sign

Boulevard tapped the bottom of his pen on his thigh in a slow metronome. It always helped him focus when he wrote. Once stuck in a tree – most likely from a storm – was a big chair made of torn leather. The hermit found it near the top right border of Unmei National Park when he first arrived. The worn out, if not still comfortable seat he lugged into the boat was always the best place to relax and take in everything that had happened for the day. And to drink; Boulevard was having tequila today.

He knew that making a log of someone like they're a test subject is odd -- stalker-like even -- but he said it himself before he got made fun of for it. Boulevard is a pioneer of knowing. His liking of documenting events in the apocalypse has a melancholy aftertaste because he realized that war journalists didn't take pictures from miles away. Unless he's in the fray, moments will go by with no one to remember them.

Wynter was worth inquiring about. And Boulevard thinks he's figured out why. The way she spoke was like the main character from one of his straight-to-home movies titled "Ill-tempered Girls." The quirkily sassy but not snappy way she spoke to Boulevard before and those rises in her voice like a chirping bird combined with that attire of old 80's wear showed that she herself is what she always mentioned. A relic – a memento.

Has Wynter maintained her primary traits after twenty years of hell? If that's true, maybe it's because she had five years to become someone before the end unlike Boulevard. Perhaps her personality was shaped by something like the media he watched? Even if she is similar to her oldest, pre-apocalyptic self, she was young back then, and this world changes people whether they like it or not. There were many questions and not many answers.

He didn't know if he'd be safe prodding into Wynter's personal life yet, but something Boulevard can ask with full confidence is, "Why are you still in my home?"

Wynter was opposite to him on the couch, looking around wistfully. She placed aside equations and doodles that rested on the seats before she sat in a neat stack on his desk and then sat down, kicking her feet up on his table. "What a strange lack of etiquette." Boulevard thought. God knows he couldn't argue; he smelt like a rotten egg left to burn in the sun.

"I said I wanted to experience the feeling of the beach. This is a part of that journey of vacationing. I mean, I can imagine myself as a real socialite right now!" Wynter spoke, switching her crossed feet and drinking a soda she brought herself. It was flat by two decades, but to each their own.

"The beach is outside. This is a boat." Boulevard said.

She sat up like she was chosen to speak in a classroom. "You don't go to the mountains and just stare at rocks. You don't go to the big city and watch the traffic go by. You wouldn't go to an asteroid and look at the craters. You would jump out into space and float about without a care in the world." Wynter ended her speech by falling back onto the cushions, extending her limbs in a star formation, imitating flight.

That motion reminded Boulevard of snow angels. Thinking of winter reminded him that he needed to fish more. When snow falls, ice is sure to follow. He knows from experience the water's frost isn't friendly to outsiders, cracking at a moment's notice. Hibernation was a yearly tradition to Boulevard. Months and months of him and himself in the baron but -- at least -- warm yacht.

Boulevard rose and gulped down his last swig of liquid courage before putting on a bucket hat with hooks of many varieties displayed around its circumference. Red plastic fish and rusty metal arches surrounded the headwear, each being collected from the coast, washed up from who knows where. "I'm going to fish for foodstuffs. If you want to stay, maybe complete a useful job yourself."

Wynter looked back and forth, ending by meeting with Boulevard's eyes. "Give me something and I'll lather it in elbow grease." She said while flexing a non-existent bicep. He pondered on what she could do. Making his seemingly eternal job easier would be a start.

"Underneath the now emptied seventh liquor cabinet is a box of fishing equipment and my handmade pole. Acquire that for my usage and you can go and explore what you haven't already." Flashing a salute, Wynter went behind his leather chair and started to scrounge around.

Before Boulevard could go outside, something in the back of his mind held him there. It was like a woodpecker was jabbing at the back of the psyche, constantly reminding him of something. The question presented was if mentioning it would bring any good results. However, Boulevard couldn't help himself but correct her. Hopefully, she wouldn't look at the hermit like a smart aleck. "You can't travel through space without proper equipment and monitorization of your vitals. The pressure and cold temperatures would kill you in minutes."

Wynter bounced over to his position to hand off the cooler. "How do you know that?" She asked, turning her head. A feeling sparked in Boulevard. A lightbulb turned on in his brain. He knew it would be fun to explain. Even if Wynter didn't understand a word of what was about to be said, he would like to test himself and rant about his favorite topic.

"My favorite subject in the endless possibilities of science is astronomy. It's very interesting."

Her eyes widened like she was ready to discuss as well. "Oh! I love that stuff! What's your sign?"

"I have a job for you, Wynter. Safety is of utmost importance here. I need you to chop down every tree in Unmei National Park. We need to acknowledge a looming threat of Gluttons or people from miles away. No matter how grueling, I know you can achieve such a goal." Boulevard placed his hands on her shoulders and she looked back and nodded with flair.

"It's starting to get fun around here, now isn't it? I'll be done by dusk!" Wynter chuckled, waved bye to Boulevard, and jumped into the sand. He rubbed his eyes with his pointer finger and thumb, but Wynter's absence raised another question he had been meaning to ask since he heard her talk about it.

"Why do you travel?" Wynter looked back and smiled.

"This is going to be some type of hard work, Boulevard! Prepare me a fish dinner and we can talk over that at my place. What do you say?"

Boulevard side eyed his history textbook on the desk. Such a proposal would be perfect for gathering information on Wynter. She stood, awaiting his response. He took his eyes away from his studies and looked forwards. Boulevard nodded, wanting to know the ins and outs of such an anomaly of a person. Wynter would just call it getting to know her better.