Have you ever wanted to be completely happy, free from the tight hold of sadness? I guess everybody does. Or, at least everyone I used to know. Mess clutters my small, plant filled, out of date apartment like the moss covering my practically ghost-town. Humid air lazily blows around my dimly lit, already muggy home, making it even harder to breathe. I jadedly cough out a sigh of relief, finally finished watering my around million plants. But, even though my life right now isn't the most fun, I'm overly excited to not be outside. Where the.. "Flowers" are. Not the pretty, vibrant, lively flowers that you can smell but...the experiments that failed. The same experiments that she... she- Crash! As soon as I whipped around to see where the unusual clattering sound came from, I realized that I had forgotten to breathe. It's been two years, can't you just get over it? Not like you will, but can you at least try? My brain jumps to thinking what it could be as soon as I finish talking to myself weirdly. A raccoon? Wait, didn't those die off? Gust of wind that knocked over a trash can? Hah, I wish. Slowly approaching the source of the sound I crawl carefully into my kitchen, ignoring the fact that if anyone saw me, I would expire from embarrassment, curl up in a ball, and wait to die. As the suspense builds, so does my confusion. It couldn't actually be a raccoon, could it? I try to ignore the worst possibilities, but at the same time, wouldn't I be disappointed if it's nothing? Hm, but- and then I spotted it. The note. My hand flinches, almost dramatically, from where it was on the tiled floor. It looks just like a normal, everyday bleached yellow sticky note, but it's- its- ..."Mum's note" I choke out, tears welling in the coroner of my eyes.
I usually don't cry, but...this is different. Who's here to judge me anyway? Delicately picking it up, I cradle the sticky note in my hands as if it were worth a million dollars. Not that money exists anymore. "Love you, stay safe, Xavi! I'll be home at 8 '' Her delicate handwriting wrote a note everyday to me, no matter what..as soon as a graceful tear falls down my face, i stop. "No emotions. Don't have time for useless things." I hazily breathe out, standing up leisurely, then pinning the note to the fridge where it fell from. I cant believe youre so emotional, it's not like someone just died. "I guess I should grab some food, '' I tell myself. Aggressively, I grab the handle on our- my "white" fridge. As I look around, I notice-"perfect, absolutely nothing" I groan out loud, sarcasm dripping from my voice. Annoyed, I slam my fridge door and shake my head. "Of course I have no food. I haven't gone scavenging in weeks. Walking away back into my living room, I sigh unhappily. What's wrong with me? No food, sleep, or emotional control. What a perfect way to live in a post-apocalyptic world.
(THIS IS THE FIRST DRAFT, THIS CHAPTER WILL HAVE LOTS OF ADDED MATERIAL AND DETAIL IN THE FINAL VERS.)
