It was a Sunday when she had decided she was done with all of the bullshit; it was a Sunday when the earth quaked, throwing the city into chaos. Now it was Tuesday, and nothing was improving. If anything, things were descending further into hell, a warped version of it.
Her main objective was to escape the apartment; it was a thirty-two storey building, filled with only a few familiar faces. What was left of her apartment had been on the thirtieth floor. During the cataclysm a chunk of the building was torn off between the thirtieth and thirty-second floors, leaving a hole that looked out onto part of the city. From where she sat she could see smoke and flames. All she heard was the wind though.
Everything was silent
Except for the wind.
Following the event, she thought that someone would come for her. Now she couldn’t wait. The long nights had taken their toll on her mentally. The feeling of eyes on her was uncanny and strong, ever-present. From the little sleep that she had she had seen strange flying creatures. Today she was left with two options: survive, or turn insane.
She sighed a long sigh to steady herself, rising to her feet. “Am I hollow?” she whispered. Was it wrong to feel nothing now? She hurt on the inside, but physically she felt fine. Emotionally she thought she was okay.
There was just the hollowness.
“Am I hollow?” she repeated. Was there really a hollow something within her, or was this just a figment of her imagination? Since the cataclysm on Sunday, nothing had been too certain.
Without even thinking she began to clear the rubble from the stairwell. It was well into the evening when she had cleared enough to get through–a hole that she could just squeeze through. Without so much as looking back she made her way to the stairs. It wasn’t until she had reached the next floor down when she realized her face was wet.
“I’m crying!” she said. “Crying for all of the people I left up there!” She wasn’t so sure if they were still there, but she cried for the ones who might be alive.
She was bringing in her groceries when the quake hit the city. A few seconds later she found herself staring out of the hole. Just like that. A chunk was ripped away from the building. If the quake had been a few seconds too slow, she’d be dead.
The thought of dying like that made her squeamish. She opened the to the twenty-ninth floor slowly. Like the thirtieth floor, this floor was also deserted. The lights flickered on an off, and there was a burning smell on the air.
Her nostrils flared at the acrid odours of smoke . . . And something else. She shook her head, refusing to believe or think about the thing . . .
No, I won’t!
It was obvious what the smell was, and where it was coming from.
She sped down the hall, her feet barely making a sound on the carpeted floor, which she was grateful for. Behind a few of the doors she caught chittering, and other eerie noises–she made sure to give those a wide berth. When she was back on the stair well she let out a deep breath.
“Okay, you can do this!”
Twenty-eight floors mocked her, the strange creatures who hid in the rooms along with them.
“I don’t want to die.’