"I want ... " I stopped, and got to my feet, wiping away the tears that were beginning to spill and roll down my cheeks. "Never mind what I want," I mumbled.
Rasmus grabbed my arm. "No. What do you want?"
I looked right into his eyes. "You." Always...
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{ Ida } 1 0 t h o f O c t o b e r, 2 0 2 1
Scavenging was a thing that came naturally to me, especially because I was little and great at hiding. My endurance and strength gradually improved as well.
At first I had no aim, no goal. After all, what was the point in living when everything around you was dying and a change in weather determined whether you would live or die? People became animals, crazed for food and fresh water. Not a single one could be trusted, even the children, who ran amok on the streets. By now I had stared death between the eyes more than once and it hadn't been pretty. I stashed at least eight kitchen knives in my backpack and three more in the waistband of my black leggings. At the same time, staying put became so dreadfully boring to me. I found I always had to be moving around, house to house, street to street. Our city was relatively small, however, so I couldn't imagine how people in Copenhagen would be coping.
Then, a few days before I decided to veer away from the city and into the countryside, I uncovered my mum's body outside a flat on the other side of town, half covered by undergrowth and snaked with ivy. She was wearing her favourite shirt: the baby blue linen button-up. I can't describe how I knew for sure it was her. Her face was so decomposed and it looked like some stray dog had had a go at it. But I knew. And I couldn't even bury her in fear of contamination. My mum wouldn't want that. She would have wanted me to live and fight even if she couldn't.
Right there I vowed I would figure out a way to cure this country; destroy the disease carried by the rain once and for all myself. This wasn't any Gods' doing, if any existed. Only the devil could do such a thing. I would be worse than thedevil; so terrible I would be crowned a God. Oh, how naïve I was: I didn't realise how unfair life really was, particularly to a skinny eleven-year-old lone girl. But at least it was something. Something to keep me hoping for. Something to keep me truly alive.
After placing a daisy on her chest I sprinted for cover before another sheet of rain began to pelt down, sky blue Kanken backpack bouncing, mustard rain jacket flying.
