An old truck parked in front of the albergue’s locked gate, headlights illuminating the soccer pitch. People from the village of Tilaco were gathering, clapping, cheering. Maestra Lena unlocked the gate and everyone came inside, including four mariachi’s wearing pink shirts, black jeans, and ivory hats and belts. I recognized Monsie’s father playing the little guitar. A larger man, dressed the same, strummed a very large guitar while two younger men played violins with dazzling speed.
“You came! You came!” Monsie shouted in joy. There was her abuelita hobbling forward, gray hair bound in a bun.
“I told you, hija,” she said kindly. “I told you I’d come back.” The elderly woman looked up at me and smiled a gap-toothed smile.
The court filled with people who started dancing in the old way while the music played, the voices sang. My heart filled with happiness as I heard the songs, and then I found myself crying in relief and wiping my eyes. There was clapping and cheering from everyone. The whole village came.
After the next song finished, Monsie took one of the violinists by the hand and pulled him toward me.
“Maestra Carla,” Monsie said. “This is my uncle Hector.”
“You all played wonderfully,” I said, smiling at him, trying to dry my eyes on my sleeve. “Thank you for coming. You saved us.”
“It’s all right, Señorita,” he said, tucking his violin under his arm. “We will be here all week. We came for Maestra Lena’s celebration but also because of the Chupacabra. They cannot stand happiness. Monsie…well, she…she wanted me to meet you.” He looked abashed.
Monsie grinned. “He’s my favorite uncle,” she said, still holding his hand.
“Where do you live?” I asked him, feeling a little dazed still.
“I’m from Tilaco,” he said, bowing. “I grew up in this albergue.” He looked me in the eye. “I’m so grateful for all my teachers. This is where I learned how to play. How to dance.” He smiled. “I think it’s time I came home.”
My family went to the albergue in Tilaco as part of the Family to Family Humanitarian Expeditions in June 2017. We visited many other albergues in Queretaro. These kids live unimaginably difficult lives, but their smiles and hugs show they have deep hearts and giving spirits. It was an amazing experience, especially dancing with them to a mariachi band, which was the non-scary element chosen for my story.
While the events in this story are fictional, the places are real. To learn more and to help these children, visit http://f2fhe.org/donate
AVOCADOPOCALYPSE
By Steve R. Yeager
1,700 Words
Prompt: A worryingly small avocado.
FIRST OFF, PLEASE forgive any misspellings or bad grammar in this letter. It’s dark in here, I’m scared and probably won’t be around much longer. Spelling and grammar aren’t exactly at the top of my list of things I’m concerned about right now.
It all started with a worryingly small avocado. Who knew what they really were and what they could become? And who could have ever guessed in a million years what destruction they could have wrought?
Certainly not me.
Some scientists believed they had been dormant all along and had just been waiting to hatch. Kind of like an unfertilized chicken egg. They think some parallel universe had shifted too close to our own and somehow revived them, which caused them to mature and then hatch. I know that I never believed it to be possible. Only a crackpot would think that.
Religious scholars told us it was just God’s way of purifying the earth—like the floods, like Noah and every other pre-history apocalypse. “Creative destruction,” it is called, or so they said. And many of those same believers think that somewhere out there the pure of heart are being saved, few as those might be these days. They think the whole experiment with self-governance had been yet another mistake. Our distancing ourselves from God is what was to blame.
I’m not so sure. But it could be true. Just as the hundreds of other theories could be true. No one knows for certain.
We surely blew a lot of things. We sparked too many wars. Dug deep into the earth and polluted our land and water with toxic chemicals. And we took little heed for the impact we burdened the world at large with. Maybe it was finally time for a change. A reboot, so to speak. Ctrl-alt-delete. Did you turn it off and back on again? Ha!
But of all the things possible in heaven and on earth—why did it have to be avocados?
It started barely two years ago. That’s when the first one hatched. It was a marvel, of course. It was cute and small and different. Every news program celebrated the new species that emerged. Science believed it to be something alien, something never before seen on earth. But there were others who weren’t so sure. They had warned us, but those voices fell on deaf ears.
A few survivalist types recognized the danger for what it was right away. They headed for the hills, to their bunkers and fortresses of solitude. Maybe in the end they will be the only survivors. Maybe they are the only ones meant to live while all the city-dwellers too caught up in what flavor latte to have or which dress socks to wear in public will perish. And to think that those same fools used to enjoy such things as avocado toast! They were eating pre-hatched eggs! I guess the joke is on them, sick as that might sound. And they were certainly unprepared for what was to come. Death came for them quickly, as the cities were destroyed first.
Maybe they were the lucky ones?
Then there were those who thought the creatures were cute and had “scientific value.” Maybe if they had not been so dumb and had realized that real danger still exists in the world. True, deadly danger. The type that will kill you if you’re not careful. And that the entire order of life can change in an instant. But I guess it’s good in a way. They were fat and happy and stupid. They lacked for little in life. Sadly, they didn’t appreciate all the nice things they had. They replaced what mattered with video games and social media. Then they constantly mocked others and fought over silly things like politics and television shows.
Maybe it is better we are about to start over. Maybe we need a fresh perspective on life. I remember my father telling me once that strong men made weak men. I never understood what he truly meant by that until now. He’d say that good times were only possible through the sacrifice of those who came before us and who’d suffered to make life better for future generations. And that future generations always, always squandered the bounty they were given. Which again led to hard times and then again to hard men. And I mean men in the mankind sense. It’s just a word after all. Some even argue that using a word like that is “offensive” or “objectionable.” Silly. Just think of how luxurious that argument is now that we are facing extinction.
What a difference a year makes, am I right?
I know I’m trapped. I know I haven’t much time left on earth. I hope there is a God. And I really hope the afterlife will be more pleasant than these past few years. Eternity is a long, long time. I’m not that old now, but I can hardly imagine living forever in whatever form I end up in. I hope that wherever I go, I won’t remember what I’ve seen here. I’ve been seeking to block it. But I can’t. There have been too many horrible things I’ve witnessed. I’m loath to describe them to spare you all the gruesome details.
But I did see a lot of good things as well. We pulled together to fight the creatures as they grew in size and multiplied in number. But there were just too many to overcome. They kept hatching. More kept coming. We’d destroy entire populations of them and there were still more after that. How many avocados are there in the world? Countless. They grow on trees! Millions? Billions? Part of me thinks we over-planted them. Maybe I can blame the whole generation of Millennials for their special toast, or I can blame the Californians for their love of guacamole.