Lone House

To Ask

"Who are you?"

The woman was about in her early twenties. She wore a clad black leather gown trailing from her neck up to her feet. Boots were also visible; leather. Good "absorber" of the virus as experts say but I've never been convinced.

"You can call me English; my favorite subject. I don't want people knowing my name and scampering all over the north. And I am thirty years of age and have been living in this plagued city for ten years."

I'm now known of the name English. Anyone that knows me are either dead or at the farthest corner of Earth. I live alone, survive alone, and will still be for sure. This is my new life.

"Nice to meet you English. You can call me Historia."

The female was very young for my sight and she was on field work already. she's too inexperienced for sure and that she'd never survive a night but her voice has this tone of assurance and authority over herself that she'd be sure of another day.

"Let me guess. You came with that seconds from now because of my notion."

I'd never seen another human - - entirely human for at least seven years. Still a privilege for me knowing how to socialize and have manners.

"If you're stating that my favorite subject is History and you are correct. Now, shall we get this interview started?"

She definitely was a novice. Her posture was slump, she was too informal to be even having a documentation, too vulnerable, and her actions were very much... young. I could have killed her if I wanted too but I'm not a murderer ow, am I? She'd never have a story to pass if I wasn't the one she had find. Other people would have left her, pissed over her misleading attitude.

"What's with the hurry, miss? Afraid of a ghost town or is it that it's just the two of us alone?"

I really wanted to test her will and wit. A little investigation over the visitor won't hurt.

"Don't get me wrong but yes. I quite frankly am."

Bingo.

"Of both?"

And I was very agitated for more information. It's been years since I've spoken to real people rather than Them and myself. It's either I'm interested of her or I've missed the value of a conversation.

"None, actually. I'm afraid of the fact that this isn't a ghost town and that we aren't actually entirely alone. Gives me cold fingers on my spine."

And she's quite frankly right but I've made myself get used to that fact.

"Touché, Historia though it's still hours before night so don't worry, there's still plenty of time."

It was a story worth of a prize, a trophy, or maybe even a simple recognition.