It had been 48 days since the start of the war, the bombs had returned several times in the past few weeks. I was alone, my world had been torn apart at the seams. Often I found a person or two that had succumbed to their wounds. The smell of smoldering rubble, and bodies was unpleasant, but I had gained a slight tolerance towards it.
I found food where I could, often in dented fridges and spilled across the floor in half collapsed supermarkets. The water often tasted like ash but it’s all I had. The bread was always stale and sometimes charred. The meat and other cooled products weren’t always edible unless they were still in cold space like a fridge or freezer.
I had pulled the chunk of metal from my ankle with a pair of rusty pliers, there was a scar there now but it wasn’t as painful. Some feeling has since returned to that foot but I think the nerves were damaged pretty badly during the first bombing.
I needed to find a place I could stay and be safe. I kept running. I had gone past block after block of demolished buildings. Often camping in whatever building I could find, I usually woke to the sound of more bombs, falling on the remaining parts of the city that hadn’t been destroyed already.
