Other than the fact that it was well chewed, the ball was plain. Amber looked about the dim tunnel, its walls covered with thick moss and scraggly vines that grew out of cracks and fissures. She knew that he was here, she could sense him.
“Can we be friends?” she asked the dark, the shadows.
“Friends?” a breeze sighed back a reply.
“My name is Amber.”
“…Amber…”
“What’s your name?”
“…Name? I don’t remember.”
“Would you like me to give you one?”
“No, I have a name, forgotten.”
“If you forgot your name, you can make a new one.”
“No.”
“But what will people call you when they talk to you?”
“Nobody talks to me.”
“I’m somebody.”
“No, you are not.”
“What do you mean?”
“I named you Amber.”
“You mean, I belong to you?”
“You used to belong to someone.”
“Where are we?”
“Does it matter?”
“Am I like this ball?”
“You are a doll.”
“Am I pretty?”
“You are the prettiest thing here.”
“Can the ball talk?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I never talk to it.”
Amber again looked about her. Soon her single good eye took in sights of broken, burned or torn items that had merged together and become a formless mass. Then she felt herself being sat up and she looked down to see that she had a pair of sun-bleached legs and only one arm. Like the one holding her, she was wearing rags.
“What kind of toy are you?” Amber asked.
“I’m not a toy.”
Amber was soon cradled in his arms and from there, she got a better view of the dirty face of a young boy with long matted hair.
“You are not a toy,” Amber said matter-of-factly.
“No.”
“Why are you here?”
“I was running. Running, running, and then I fell into a drain and my leg hurt, so I crawled into the dark. Now here I am.”
“You can walk. Why don’t you go back up?”
The boy was silent for a long moment, hugging the doll tighter and staring at the wall across from him. Finally he whispered, “I’m afraid.”
Amber was quiet for a moment. She remembered being in a home, an apartment where a little girl had loved her. She remembered the whispers and talks of war among the adults. Then one day she heard a loud noise, followed by walls cracking, windows shattering and people screaming. The girl had run into her bedroom and opened a window. Then she laid the doll on its back outside on a ledge. When she opened her eyes again, Amber found herself lying in a pile of rubble and covered in dirt and grime. She didn’t know how long her eyes stayed open but then one day she lost one. A heavy downpour then sent her down a drain into the sewage system. Her eye again closed until the boy with no name picked her up.
Above them, the roof of the tunnel began to rumble and the boy instantly got up and squeeze himself into the farthest corner of the dead end. The shouts of people speaking a language neither of them recognized began to filter down to them through an opened manhole a few yards ahead in the main tunnel. Then boots began to drum down the sides of the tunnel followed by flashes of light. The boots drew nearer, and a strange horror began to grip Amber. It was almost as though she knew what was about to happen, even though she had never seen it before. A pair of boots stepped in front of their tunnel, and almost instantly fire began to spit all about them, raining flames and hot oil. Yet the boy did not even whimper as he lay curled up on his belly. Soon the man in boots moved away.
“What are they doing?” Amber asked, her voice trembling.
The boy said nothing and stayed still for so long, Amber thought he had died. Then the voices again returned and climbed back up. After the echoes of the covered manhole had faded into a distant memory, he sat up and said, “Those were soldiers. They were trying to burn out anyone left alive after their invasion.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I used to be, but now I feel nothing.”
“What do we do now?” she asked.
He stood up and began walking towards the main tunnel. “We will look for dinner. The rats are easier to get and taste better after the flamethrowers have been in here.”
Once they were out, Amber saw that he was right, for along the path were dozens of dead rats. And then she saw someone else too, picking them up as though they were ripe fruits fallen off their tree. Then she saw another person and another. But she was not afraid of them, because the boy wasn’t.
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