My name is Alice. I think. I don't remember. I think that Alice is what my mother called me before she died. Before everyone died. I'm not in a good place right now. It's a bad place. There used to be a city here, or at least that's what some of the older survivors say. I can't remember what a city should look like, but when I think about the word 'city', I do not see this place. This place is littered with filth and rubble from crumbled buildings. Some of them have been converted into makeshift homes. They're cleverly disguised among all the wreckage. It's a bad place because the homes that do exist were created from dilapidated buildings and the air here is thick and sticky and I know that it's not safe. So why am I here? Well, I don't know that, either. I've been here since my mother died. We were here visiting my great aunt Rebecca when it all happened. No one knew at the time that there were such powerful things that could kill millions at once. There was no warning. No sirens, no alarms. When my mother died, there was chaos and no one had any idea what was going on and people in the streets were screaming "They're coming! They're coming!". My mother shoved me into a Postal Service thing and I never saw her alive again. There was a flash of white and for all those who had been screaming and running, it was over.
Whether or not it's my real name, I like Alice. I like the way it rolls off my tongue when I say it to someone and I can see it in my breath, caught in the cold, wintry air.
A few months ago, one of them asked me what my name was, but it wasn't cold outside, so the magic of Alice did not freeze in the air for a few evanescent moments. The night air was thick and choking with moisture that already hung in the air, too much to allow an Alice amidst the summer breeze. I felt congested and uncomfortable already, and he only made me feel worse. They don't have proper names, just numbers. They don't feel, just as numbers don't feel. They're cold. Calculating. Mechanical. They are the ones who kill us. They are the ones who decide who lives and dies, not God. But he wasn't bad. He didn't make me do anything, didn't make me beg for my life. He only repeated my name. It didn't sound so bad, coming from him. I felt a chill when he reached out and touched my hair.
"Go home, little Alice. My sister is still afoot."
I nodded and ran, saying thank you behind my shoulder. I did not want to encounter him or her. I didn't go home, I expected him to have followed me, so I ducked into an old dwelling for a while before going to the Post. I lived there with a few others, mostly orphans such as myself. I didn't want him to find out where we were.
As I sat there in the dark, I started to fall asleep. I heard a rustling outside and the slight squeak of the door as it opened. My eyes shot open and I stood up to run from him, believing it to be the male, the number 17. He grabbed my arm and sat me back down.
"Who are you? How did you find this place?" he demanded. It wasn't 17. It was a boy younger than me, maybe thirteen, with purple hair. I shifted.
"I was running from one of THEM. I had to hide, but I didn't want to go straight home because I was afraid he'd follow me there. So I came here. I didn't know that you lived here. I didn't know that anyone lived here." I said. Trying to get away. His grip loosened.
"Oh." he said thoughtfully. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. You can never be too careful. Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"
I brushed myself off. "No, he didn't. He actually told me to go home, but I couldn't be sure it was safe. I live with other people, so I can't put them in danger."
He nodded. "My mother and I live downstairs. You should come with me and get something to eat. It's the least I can do for scaring you that way. And don't even try to say no. I'm not taking that."
I bit my thumbnail nervously. I didn't know if he was telling the truth. For all I knew, he was wanting me for dinner. I didn't know what to expect. People had barely enough food to feed themselves, how could they have enough to offer me?
"Please, I'll just leave. I can't impose myself on you, I was just hiding here till it was safe." I said, getting up to leave. I had no intention of being raped or murdered, obviously.
"Trunks, honey, is everything okay?" called a woman's voice from downstairs.
"Yes, mother. I have a guest." he said.
"Oh, really? Well, bring them down, I made plenty of sushi."