It was hard to believe that I had spent at least 6 months alone in this waste of a city. Though most of the skyscrapers still touched the sky, many had fallen to rubble, mostly from the shaking of bombings. I couldn't quite count how many times I had felt them myself; I only had ten fingers, after all, and it was hard to commit things to memory without losing track of something else. I leaned my body back against the wall and let my legs fall to the floor. I was exhausted. I had just run out of water about an hour before, but it was impossible to move too much in the sweltering heat without sweating or passing out…
I sat still for about an hour before I decided to keep moving. I needed to get back to my hideout anyway. A month or two after the first bomb hit, I had found a cellar to hide inside. As far as I knew, the bombs were nothing more than that- bombs. Not nuclear. Not anymore dangerous that a heavy piano or a building. I avoided them, but the aftermath was no worse than a hole in the ground. The sun was beating against my back, but I did what I could to hide my face from its rays. The last thing I needed was a sunburn. I rubbed my sleeve against my forehead and stared at it afterward. I could remember the moment I had grabbed the jacket.
After about 12 weeks, I realized things wouldn't be returning to normal- not like the times of "Twilight", at least that's what some strangers had called it. No, it couldn't. Too many people were dead and gone, and too many people were committing crimes of murder and theft, and I wasn't innocent either. It had been a cold night in December, and my lips had started to turn blue. Sitting still in the cellar much longer would have killed me… so I risked the outside world to find something to use as a blanket- anything would do. Trekking through the rubble, I noticed something sticking from beneath the cement blocks. Getting to it had been a task in itself, but dislodging it from the rocks had been even worse. I pulled and pulled and pulled until it finally slipped loose; I felt my heart drop into my stomach instantly. There was still a body inside of the jacket sleeve I had pulled out. Not a whole body; it was missing its legs and a few of the fingers, but it had been enough to jar me and leave me like stone. Long story short, I took the jacket and continued searching (where I found my combat boots and belt, along with a few weapons and other supplies). Scavenging wasn't exactly something I wanted to do, but I wasn't left with too many other options.
The military green color of the jacket was stained with blood and dirt, and I hadn't had a chance to clean it, not at all. One day, I promised myself, one day I'll wash everything. I pushed my sweaty blond hair back as I descended the steps to the cellar, but I froze- the door was open. I always closed and locked the door when I left the cellar. Who the hell…? I pulled the knife from my belt and held it out in front of me as I stepped down the last 2 stairs. After a deep breath, I shoved the door open quickly and raised the knife to fighting level. I looked quickly through the room and found nothing, no one. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding and slowly lowered the knife, though I didn't return it to the belt. There was no way I had-
Someone grabbed quickly at my forearm, and I couldn't lift the knife again. My footing was gone in a second, and I was on the floor with a pistol held to my forehead. Shit. Shit. Shit. How was I going to get out of this one? I had my eyes shut at first, waiting for the bullet that would surely end my life, but it never came. I cracked one eye open and saw a boy, maybe 2 or 3 years older than me, sweating and panting, his thumb deftly cocking the gun. I tensed, but kept my eyes on him. His red hair was pulled back into a ponytail and his green eyes were staring daggers into mine, his confidence surfacing as he held my arm down into the floor.
"What do you want?" I whispered, trying not to alarm him. He looked as if he'd been sitting in the sun too long. Did he need shade? The boy growled a little and pressed the end of the gun roughly against my forehead, making me flinch and shut my eyes again.
"Shut up. I want everything- and I mean, everything. You're going to leave, and I'm going to take your stuff, understand?"
Sure, the words made sense, but I couldn't let him. I couldn't let him take my food and my blankets and my books; I would die if I left without these things, and I would die if I fought back, so I decided to do the latter. I used my free hand to roughly shove the barrel away from my head, the metal and force scraping the skin off my forehead. I tackled the other boy as roughly as possible, bringing my knife as close as I could. I pushed hard with both hands, but he was clearly stronger than me, and he lifted the gun again and pressed it against my chest. I had him straddled by his stomach, the blood and sweat dripping off my forehead. It wasn't until that moment, suspended above the redhead, that I realized I was crying. Sweat, blood, tears…
I saw his finger start to move on trigger, and I pulled in the sharpest breath I had ever felt enter my body, a scream erupting a moment later to try and assist my knife. But nothing happened. I looked down quickly and stopped in surprise, the redhead staring back at me. There was a moment of nothing, our panting breaths the only noise in the room, but then he shoved me up with forearms. I was slammed back into the floor, the air quickly escaping my lungs. There was nothing else I could do as he wrestled the knife from my hands. I felt the cuts sink into my arms and fingers as we fought one another for possession, but his hands ended up on my throat, the knife across the room and out of reach. He didn't press or injure me, but he was clearly the stronger one.
"Now what? Are you going to kill me-"
"Thought about it, but I'm not really interested in having blood on my hands today—"
"Oh, today? So I can schedule for tomorrow then?" I snapped back, my eyes staying on his. Was he afraid to kill me? I wasn't afraid to kill, but I didn't want to. I had been fully prepared to sink that knife into this guy without a second thought, but he had brought an empty gun and had thrown the knife; he definitely didn't want to kill me. I saw his eyebrow raise and a smirk fall onto his lips, his breath coming back to him while I still struggled for my own.
"No schedule, honey. Day to day, you know how it goes. Now, choices for you; do you want to get up and leave or sit here until you pass out from dehydration?" What? Did he know-
"Have you been watching me?"