Desolation Reigns

Chapter 7

Rabid dogs haunted my nightmares. Their beady eyes fixed on my presence, noses lifted towards my scent. The dogs wolfish in a way, like they haven't been feed in months and all the want is a me sandwich. Each night, they would rip me apart and feast on my gamey flesh.

Tonight was no different. The dogs attacked my legs first, making escape near impossible. Then my torso, gobbling up my intestines. And lastly, my face. Their mouths the last thing i see before i wake up. And the light returns to my eyes, the warmth rushing to my face, nerves tingling.

Grey, dusty ceiling lays before me, as per usual. Heavy eyelids resist against my awakening. My ear drums vibrating to the drum of thunder. Shifting, my eyes can now see the alarm clock on the bedside table. The numbers, 6:50, shown bright and green throughout the dim room. At 7:00, i must start my daily routine of mulling my way around.

Sighing, i sat upon the edge of my substantial bed, my feet barely grazing the frigid ground. Pushing myself up, I put my weight on my feet, balanced only by my numbed toes. Taking step upon step, reaching over to the table next to my bed to grab the previously opened bottle covered by a brown paper bag. Each new step came with its own swig of whatever alcohol i happened to carry. The crinkle of the bag was heard over the light shower outside, never ceasing.

Half a bottle later and i was in my bathroom where the mirror was dirty and the sink was still draining the water from the night before. The room was not unlike my bedroom but it was smaller, draber, and if it was possible, greyer. Dirt caked the concrete floor; the holes in the walls were not ones i had made. The counter was a shade of dark green with the sink built right in. A shower fit comfortably in the very back taking up a bit less than half of the bathroom. Luckily, my shower has tiles. Not many houses have tiles nor carpet or real flooring anywhere. Although the floor might be nice, the shower head was clearly broken in five separate places. The nozzle only sprays with half of the holes and randomly shifts from hot to cold.

So, yeah. Who wouldn't want to drink after living in this dump?

Staring at my gimp complexion, i tidy my appearance. I was not attractive, nor was I unattractive. My hair a dark shade of brown and shoulder-length, my skin pale and olive-toned. My face was where everything fell apart. My cheeks were sunken and bony, my eyes permanently bloodshot while my nose pointy and slightly crooked(not so crooked to which you could physically see it but after years of gazing at it I kind of just knew it was there). My mouth was plain and ordinary, not much different than the rest of the world's. I'm not plain, I have a strange appearance to everyone else. My skin hung off my frame while the muscles on my arm protruded outward. Strange, but I wore it well. My clothes were a pair of dark green cargo pants and a black camisole, the shirt showed my body a smidge while the pants hid my chicken legs from the judging society.

I knew i must be presentable for the very low-class job I have so I painted my face with cheap makeup and tied my hair up in a loose bun, whispy strands fell in my face. Messy and uncaring, just the way I like it.

The rest of my routine was a simple arrangement of staying in the kitchen eating junk, drinking a lot, and staring at the rain through my kitchen window. The rain and ceased slightly. No longer was the sound deafening and hard to talk over, but a slight grievance. Would the downfall be anything but background noise to my life?

Maybe.

Maybe it did once.

But now is no time for pity questions and drunk wonderings.

Ten minutes to leave and I started to pack a small bag for daily necessities. Inside this black and maroon bag of demeanor was a book, gloves, computer, and a flask. There was no alcohol allowed at the factory i work at but honestly, they don't give a shit about us. Who cares if we die while handling heavy machinery? Our contracts don't require action to be taken. The government doesn't require any action. If you die on a Friday, they could leave your body under whatever machine crushed you until Monday when you're a real pain in the ass to clean up. Job of my dreams, amiright?

Also, there's an abundance of workers, anyway. Who's gonna notice if I drink on the job? As long everything works, I'm good.

Now, what can i use instead of an umbrella?