The sun is rising. It casts everything in a warm light. I sit on the crumbled roof of my building and watch it illuminate the city. A fire is burning in the distance and the smell quickly envelopes its surroundings. It filters down to me and I cough lightly.
“Shit” I
mutter. Turning on my heels I quickly scurry down the incline of the roof.
Grabbing onto protruding pieces of cement I lower myself through a hole masked
by debris. Dropping down into the 7th floor I relax, just a little.
I have to make another run today before the scavengers get closer and strip the
area.
I move down the flights of stairs until the
number 4 flashes in front of me. Slowly edging my way around the door frame I
appraise the hallway. I don’t even know why I keep doing this, it’s not like
there’s anyone left in this building. Habit I guess. I squat down and ease my
way through yet another hole; this one leads into the minute crawl space
between levels. I hate it, but it’s the only way into my apartment. It’s
probably the only reason why my home has been untouched—no looters, no
scavengers, just me. Alone.
I crawl for
only a few metres before my knees touch on the plank of wood covering an
opening in my ceiling. Pushing it out of the way I grip the edge of the wooden
beam and practically fall onto the mattress underneath. I suck at entries.
Rubbing my face with the palms of my hands I let out a groan. It’s been two
months since I’ve used a proper door. Two whole fucking months.