1. Justin Anderson About 700
words
712 Delaware Street
Oskaloosa, KS 66066
(785) 260-0758
JTAndersonwrites@gmail.com
What They Left Behind
By J. True Anderson
“No! Wait! Please!” He sobbed.
They left him. Their promises, all lies. The fumes
of the ship’s thrusters eddied around him as he watched
them soar to the heavens. The weight of despair that
skulked in behind the storm of anxious panic pulled Israel
Murphy to his knees. The horizon was speckled with the
fires of thousands of ships rocketing away, carrying
everything that They considered useful – not Israel
Murphy. He tried to suffocate the wracking pain that
reminded him of the way he felt when he was a child, lost
in the market, crying for his mother.

2. Anderson/ Left Behind/ 2
He gazed after the ship that had been his only hope
until it was no longer even a cold white star in the night
sky. Fires burned in the shanty settlement below him, and
he knew he must descend from the hilltop launch site. He
had to make his way back to what had been the home he had
shared with his masters. Murphy picked his way around the
luggage that he had abandoned in his haste. He felt no
need to reclaim his worldly things. All of humankind had
been left with nothing, and he was now acutely aware of his
humanity.
It was not out of humanity that he had served them.
He had hoped to secure his own comfort, to maintain his
aristocratic lifestyle. They once had need of a few who
could govern, who understood the psychology of the beasts
that had to be harnessed for labor and food. One who spoke
the words of the beasts in a way that would achieve the
singular result they would accept. This task Israel Murphy
did flawlessly.
“The slaves will be coming soon.” He said to himself
as he reentered what had been his home.
It wouldn’t be long before the angry masses came to
the Governors compound looking for anything of use that had
been left behind. There were some few things that had not
been taken. None of it was considered useful by their

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Masters. But Israel had always been impressed by the
things that those under his oversight would put to use. He
couldn’t help but imagine the antique furniture being
burned for a cook fire as he unlatched the door which
opened to reveal the stairway that led down into the
servants’ cell.
“Fetch my things from the landing pad.” He said
evenly as the four servants appeared at the bottom of the
stairs, and they immediately obeyed.
As the servants returned with his luggage he directed
them to take it all to his room and ready his black suit --
it was best for solemn occasions. As his orders were
carried out, he filled his shaving bowl with water from his
bedside decanter. It would not do to look so harried when
the others arrived. Israel took extra care with his shave,
though he twice regarded the long blade of his straight
razor as a possible relief to what he knew must follow in
the days to come. There would be a trial. It would be
short. Some man or woman would feel bound by honor to act
as advocate for the infamous Israel Murphy, collaborator,
traitor, and enslaved master of slaves. His noble defense
would be anchored upon the principle that he had no choice.
That in light of the horror of occupation anyone else given
the chance he had been given would have done exactly what

4. Anderson/ Left Behind/ 4
Israel had done. It would be a valiant effort, but in the
end they would find him guilty of the highest order of
crime. Humanity would vent a generation of anger upon him
because They were out of reach. He would hang.
The doorbell rang, Israel heard a servant answer it.
Wrathful footfalls thundered up the stairs. He
straightened his blue tie and hoped that he would not
disappoint the young heroes who would unite all of
Humankind behind their raging anger.
“Israel Murphy?” A hoarse voice, disfigured from
years of slavery, demanded.
“I am.” Israel turned to see a filthy young man, in
tattered clothes brandishing a bloody knife. “So… no trial
then?”