She Reaches Out

Chapter 1

Blake POV
19th July

I can't remember my dream.

I sit up slowly, scrubbing a hand down my face. I've really got to start remembering what these damn nightmares are about one of these days. There's a thin layer of cold sweat on my forehead, and I feel out of breath, but I have no idea what just happened in my mind's eye. There's a swirling mass, deep in my stomach that speaks of danger and grief, but it doesn't feel the same as the real grief I carry with me every day. I feel too panicked for the bone-deep, aching weariness that always comes with my baggage.

I don't like thinking of it in that way anyway. 'Baggage'? I carry their lives with me every day I continue to survive. As long as I keep the Compound going, through the rough times, through the worst of them, even, I carry their legacy. A burden and a blessing in disguise.

Sighing heavily, I peek out of my curtains, and see the day has yet to begin. Gentle rays of a cold sunrise streak the compound, the farm across from me looking warm and inviting, like something out of a fairy tale, but I can already feel the chill seeping through my nightclothes. My alarm clock isn't set to go off for hours yet, but I start getting up anyway. I know I won't be able to sleep again.

I layer up, put my brave face on, and quietly open the door to my room. I don't know why I'm still quiet in the mornings, but I want to blame it as an intrinsic part of human nature, that we whisper in the dark, and only make noise when there's already noise there. Strange really, these social habits that we all conformed to. Well. Not like there's anyone around to watch my thoughts unfold, is there?

I take off down the pathway, my ponytail irritating the back of my neck. I reach the generator and turn to head past the field. Checking the corn for impurities, I meander my way along the edge of the patch. I'll check it out in more detail later, but I want to see how intensive my work for the day will be.

As I go through the motions, my mind drifts and wanders, stumbles and trips. I remember home. I remember my friends, I remember my family, and the stability I felt as I went through life. I have none of that now. I miss them.

This is the part where any ordinary person would shed a tear, but I've long stopped crying over memories. I'd never get anything done if I stopped working whenever I felt sad, and it isn't special, or new. To be honest, I have no idea what normal even constitutes anymore.

Getting colder by the minute, I move more quickly towards the kitchen, and as soon as I get inside, I'm flipping the heating on and checking the insulation. Shivering, I swap out my flip-flops for slippers and tug my sleeves down my arms a little. I start to potter about my day, making myself a cup of tea, checking the mailbox. I peer curiously at the back of the box. Seems some rust is setting in. Better give that a clean today. I head to the wall to find the newest addition to the mural still wet. I frown. I've been trying some acrylic paint I found, but it seems to have gone quite hard and flaky over the years, and I found it very difficult to paint with yesterday. I think I'll finish off the piece and put the paint back away; I'm not proud of the current results.

My kettle starts to whistle as I get out the ingredients for pasta. I plan to make a huge pasta bake that should last me few days of shoving little bits of food down my neck at random intervals, so I'm never hungry. I'm very lucky for that.

Even in the before-times, I would have days where I'd go hungry. I'd opt out of meals in favour of  'staying in shape' whatever that means.  Sometimes the three meals a day tendency didn't work, because I got so wrapped up in my life that I'd miss meals, or forget that snacking was an option. It was actually a pretty sad way to live. One of the many things that are better now that I should be grateful for.

I would get so focused on work, too. I was a writer, specifically of children's books. It was always my way of reconciling that I didn't want to have kids, but I could try and enhance other peoples' kids' lives just a tad. That childlike innocence when a toddler chuckled at the voices their parents were putting on, that made me happy. Not so much the mothering side, but noticing and loving the naïveté. I used to get so focused on the formatting and making sure everything was just perfect.