eMPty skiES

Serial

Oh lord was she hungry. Too much time had been spent at the base of that dumb fountain that Isla had completely forgotten about eating. After realising that there was no one to serve her food at any of the stores, she walked back to her house. Stepping into the silent kitchen, she fixed herself a sandwich and sat down. She had realised pretty quickly that the power was out, which would cause many problems. Nevertheless, she was enjoying the crisp lettuce and juicy tomatoes. Mid bite, she felt a vibration run down her leg, and her mom's phone that was on the kitchen counter rang out.

"Oh my God!" She laughed to herself, "Why don't I just call someone? I'm so stupid."

Seven calls to people all over and outside town, and even the country, left Isla with seven dial tones followed by silence and a sinking feeling in her stomach getting heavier every unanswered call. Each phone that wasn't picked up led Isla to believe she was alone. Where everyone went, she had no idea. Why she was the only one who didn't leave never ceased to confuse her. The memory of what had happened to her between the time she spent walking home from school on thursday and waking up in that stinky bathroom was nowhere to be found in her brain full of useless and mindless facts.

Overthinking to a point of a breakdown was definitely one of her strong suits, and though this *would be an appropriate time to think her situation through a little more, the setting sun outside and her tired legs made a good night's sleep seem like a grand idea.

Outside. Trees everywhere. No path. Thin branches nipping at her bare arms. She was running. Fast. Her heart was pounding and her throat as dry as a desert. There wasn't anything chasing her, nothing on her tail, and yet she ran. Faster than ever before. Why was she running? To get where she needed to be. But where did she need to get to? Not even she knew. A tree root landed right in front of her foot and sent her crashing to the ground. Lower than the ground, she kept falling. Off a cliff perhaps? Yes. She hit the ground hard. A loud crack from her fall sounded through her bedroom as Isla woke up in bed, drenched in sweat, heart throbbing and in need of water. Her house was dead silent, the lack of the comforting whirr of the air conditioner making her uncomfortable.

Stumbling to the bathroom to splash water on her face and have a drink, she remembered why the house was so quiet. It's empty.

The water was cool and refreshing, and she let it hit her face, splashing into her eyes and mouth. She swallowed the icy drink, and again opened her mouth. This time she was hit with a foul, almost bitter liquid that was definitely not just water. Prying her face away from the faucet and practically shoving it into her towel, she curled up her lips and wrinkled her nose in disgust. The acidic water continued to run through the tap, and Isla saw that the crystal clear water looked exactly the same as it did before, but she had no idea what was in it.

"Oh no," Isla cried in shock, "What on earth... the water isn't clean? The water filtration plant must not be working I guess? Definitely not safe to drink. Who knows what's in it." She shook her head, knowing she still needed water. It was a must-have, so was food. There wasn't much food in the house but she can always go to the store and get some, which wouldn't be a problem.

"Looks like I can't drink the houses tap water, or anywhere else's tap water I guess. Bottled water it is," she sighed, waddling down to the basement where they kept the bottled water. Slowly stepping down the old wooden staircase, she let the cool air wash over her. Yanking open the door, and being greeted by a room nearly dark besides the light from a small window above her head, her eyes locked on the nearly vacant case of water bottles. Three, to be exact.

"Shit!" Isla yelled, kicking out of anger a box that looked empty, but was infact holding some of her father's old, not to mention very heavy, books.

With a piercing shriek that tore up her already parched throat, she fell to the cold ground clutching her foot she kicked with. Closed eyes and unsteady breaths, plus the most pain she had ever felt resulted from kicking a box?

Isla pried open her eyes and gawked at her sock, which had a spot soaked in a deep shade of dark red. Her head began to spin, not because of blood loss, but because just the mere thought of blood made her shudder. This? This was much worse than the mere thought of blood.

"Deep breaths," she told herself aloud, "okay let's just go up stairs and clean this up. Alright now, easy..." Grabbing one of the water bottles in one hand, and heaving herself up the stairs with the other, she hobbled, whimpering in pain.

She sat herself down at the table in the poorly lit dining room and snatched the first aid kit from it's respective spot by the door. Bracing herself for what she would soon be hit with, Isla peeled off her sock and gagged.

"Uh," she sputtered, chin tucked against her chest, "I can't do this. Oh my gosh I'm going to die, and it's all because I kicked the box. Oh, I cannot do this. I cannot do this at all."

But rather than dying, Isla ended up getting herself together and pouring some water on her toe. There was no dismembered toe, or even a gaping wound. There was, however, a very badly split toenail, and the toe was bent at an unnatural angle, probably broken. Her bloody breakdown didn't last long, as she wrapped the end of her toe and tried to stand unsuccessfully, and cried out in pain again. Isla remembered when her dad broke his finger, and had a small blue cast, and decided to try to replicate it for her toe. Taking two plastic spoons from a box nearby and snapping off the ends, she used the handles and some medical tape to support her crippled needs. Though it didn't do much, she felt much better once she had her cast/splint on.

Popping a few too many pain meds and sitting alone in her dining room, she looked around at the pictures of her family. Her parents and grandparents, all the cousins playing happily, Isla on her first day of highschool that year, and then her eyes fixated on a single picture that made her stomach churn with longing. They were sitting in her Grandma's living room, tissue paper and used plastic plated littered the ground sparsely. It was her ninth birthday, and they all looked so... connected, so content, carefree. Not a worry in the world.

Then she looked at the empty chairs surrounding her, the medical kit torn apart, a third of her only water almost gone, the bag she had packed for her empty school, her broken toe and bloody sock. What the hell was even going on?