I saw a movie recently. I’m not going to tell you which movie, as that has nothing to do with this post. What does have something to do with this post, is that the main character was a scavenger and every time someone commented on that, they used the word ‘scavenger’ as if it were dirty (the despicable kind of dirty). As if she went about eating people’s unborn babies, ripping them right out of pregnant ladies’ wombs.
This struck me as odd as I sat there in the dark and watched the movie. (and stuffed my face full of nachos)
Yes, there are bad scavengers. But just like everything else on planet earth, I think there are good scavengers.
I think, as usual, we only see it in a gross light.
I have a healthy respect for some sorts of scavengers. I see them in a different light. I suppose I see the word as defined differently too then.
Sometimes scavengers are the only ones who survived the abuse, the chaos, the pain, the wars. Plucking almost rotted food and lost hopes from the fingers of corpses as they make their way down the deserted roads, cloaked in darkness of night and certainty that something, somewhere, at some time is going to turn their life around. Or rather, they’re going to be there at the right time and change their lives themselves.
I see scavengers as sometimes empty and simply trying to survive.
I see creatures that feed off dried blood and who have ebony wings and pluck at dead people’s eyes before flying off, cawing at whoever gets close.
I am a horror and fantasy writer.
And I live in a different world than a lot of others around me, I’m finding.
It gives me something a little darker and something a little brighter. And that has nothing to do with being a writer.
I see a scavenger as the forgotten, the lost, those who walk along the rims of awareness, barely there to most. They live in fear of death, they live in fear of life.
Someone left to themselves, fumbling in the dark with no memory, tugging at the strands of fate, begging their own soul to shake lose something of use.
I feel like a scavenger. Picking at the pieces of a life I could have but hold myself back from.
Because it takes a while for your eyes to adjust to the light after you’ve lived in darkness.