before it ends

My eyes open slowly. I am lying on a cold, hard surface and see the dim outlines of things – broken windows, turned-over furniture, debris on the floor. Where am I? I remember running, hiding, being hungry. Humanity died when the war started.

I inhale the night air. Then hear someone else taking a breath. I exhale stealthily.

“Are you awake?” A hoarse voice comes from the darkness. “I brought you here. It’s not often I find an alive person nowadays.” Crushing and rustling. A silhouette of a man stands above me, “Here,” holding out a bottle of water.

For Friday Fictioneers – 29 January 2021.

PHOTO PROMPT © Marie Gail Stratford

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