Damp Eyes, Molded Hearts by Scrimabloo

Rustling

Tew Sambor never liked learning from books. Humans should stop stripping words of sounds and trying to preserve voices in ink, like fossils. However, ever since she started visiting the local library, she's had a change of mind about the etiquette of hand-sewn pages. She sat in the lounge area of the Bibliotheque, browsing through the numerous genres while she lay on the dust-bunny-infested carpet. Bildungsroman was her favourite, she loved the Harry Porter series, but her personal favourite story was "To Kill a Mockingbird" by Harper Lee. The genre reminded her of herself, in a way.

After an indefinite amount of time, her stomach reminds her that she hasn't eaten in quite a while, a few hours actually. Her stomach continues to roar complaints as she packs up her belongings, including a few novels of her choice, into a beige tote bag her mother had given her before everything. That was a long time ago though. She makes her way to the front foyer, taking one more glance at the moulded couches and damp walls.

The dead air was intoxicating. She hummed the soundtrack of an old song, looking about at the absent streets and rundown vehicles. The city's been pretty empty after everyone left for the red planet, she thought, eyes catching a calendar. It marked June 17, 2170. Three years before the inevitable. The taste of a sigh was on Tew's tongue, but she didn't, instead, she continued towards her destination.

The rusted bell made a small, barely audible chime when Sambor pushed the door of the 7-Eleven. An old convenience store that she and her best friend would go to often after piano lessons. She started to hoard the shelves of their preserves, gliding her arms across the dust-covered wood like an ice skater trying to win the ISU World Team Trophy. As she moved on to the refrigerator, something fell behind the counter.

A panicked expression grew on Tew's face. Like she'd climbed into a vehicle and noticed at 150 mph, that the steering wheel was just a frisbee stuck to the dashboard with Elmer's Glue. She wiped her head towards the source, feet moving backward without instruction, flaying her arms to find something. Something, something to protect herself with.

"Who's there?!" she spits poisonously, finally grasping at a musty copper bar that had been left discarded. Sambor cautiously creeps her way to the counter, weapon held above her coily ashen hair. She peeks her head over the corner to find a plastic bag rustling on the cinder-covered floor. Huh. She looked down at the bag, then out of the window towards the slow-breathing city, then back at the bag. She lowers her guard, places the bar on the floor and reaches for the bag.

(457 Words)