Thirst

William Halsey shuffled home on exhausted feet. That morning he’d gone to search for more water, even though he knew full well that he would find none. He only went outside to keep himself from going insane. Today he’d gone further than usual, and at fifty-two years old, he wasn’t at his physical prime.

It started when, during a particularly rainy day in winter, the heavy downpour suddenly stopped. No one had thought anything of it, until it had stopped raining altogether. Usually, in winter, it rained every day. Two weeks passed, and people were starting to express annoyance. Then another two weeks, and people began to grow concerned. That’s when the water started disappearing. 

First, it was bottles of water, like the ones you buy in cafes. You’d go to the drinks fridge to buy some water, and the bottles would be empty. People lived off soda and juice for a while, but eventually the water in those evaporated, leaving a disgusting, non-consumable substance. This went on for about a week, with the media only mildly interested. Some speculation from conspiracy theorists surfaced on the Internet. Then, lakes, rivers, even the ocean started to recede. Just… evaporated out of thin air. After three days, all the water was just… gone. The land turned yellow and cracked. 

That wasn't the worst of it. Not hardly.

People survived for about a week, until inevitable death arose from the parched land. The community grew desperate, so desperate that they became capable of the unthinkable. They started killing. They killed for the only source of water available.

Blood.

Animals were the first to go. They went quickly, aided by dehydration as well as the slaughter spree humanity was so desperately clinging to. Then, they had no choice but to turn on themselves. That was a week ago.

He walked a little faster and soon reached his house. 

It was falling apart.

The door’s once dark-blue paint had almost completely peeled away, as had the cream exterior of the house. The glass windows had been smashed in – some remaining jagged glass stuck out from the windowpane and wooden boards William had nailed to the walls crudely covered the openings. The roof shingles were all but gone; all that remained was the wooden framework, and even that was rotting away. He fished his key out of his worn trousers pocket and shoved it into the lock, nervously looking left and right. Quickly turning it, he wrenched the door open and bolted inside, whirling around and slamming it shut, closing his eyes and leaning against it to catch his breath.

He opened his eyes and entered his living room. In it, he kept a slightly tattered sofa and a coffee table. He’d thrown out his television. He couldn't shake the feeling something was wrong. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, sinking onto the sofa.