Love DoveFulton Public Library,
Atlanta, Georgia
United States of America
James, I’ve been thinking lately, a lot more than usual, about you and wondering if you’re still alive but even if you’re not I will try my best to be hopeful anyway because I’m afraid of what I’ll do if you’re not okay anymore. John and I have been here for a while and he’s kind James, more so than I would have expected from anyone anymore and he spends his time talking to me or trying to find us things to survive while I attempt to make our little space easier to survive in. I know, it’s been weeks since I wrote last, a letter to a recipient that I might never see again, but it’s been a while since the I’ve felt that it’s pointless to try and smile, it’s been a long while since I saw anyone that wasn’t John and I’m afraid of what will happen if we’re the only people left really alive anymore. I can hear John coming so I’ll talk to you more later. –Anna
The young woman had started writing after she had found blank pages in one of the offices, letting the despair she felt some days onto the pages instead of into her smiles. Most days she spent her time with her face buried in a book, learning about something while John was away or instead conversing with him about anything to keep their minds off of what they knew was outside of the library or on the lower floor. Other days she would go with him, with her slingshot and the pouch she kept on her hip to carry her ammunition. Often when he was away she would take care of things here; a rather stereotypical female role but t was what she knew and could do because of her leg and asthma. With what skills she had she had managed to patch clothing after he’d brought back a sewing kit with him upon her request, since she’d pulled a hole in her shirt a few days prior to it.
She opened the pages of the book she’d been reading before she’d started writing just as the man walked into the room and over to her, taking a seat next to her on the window bench she seemed to love to read on while the dapples sunlight from the tree next to the library cast dancing shadows on the pages as she turned between them. Most students would take notes or the time to read the pages before flipping them though she had only to scan the contents to recall it perfectly from her own memories. Some had told her it was a gift, a blessing where no many tragedies had taken place in her life, but now it was more of a curse because of everything she’d seen since the beginning. It was a horrible mess of images and videos in her mind that she could never simply be rid of and wouldn’t fade like she was sure they would for John one day when they really were safe for the first time since the attack on the library. She shifted over as he sat down, crossing her legs at the ankles quietly, her bare feet hanging a mere two inches from the floor with her broken leg just barely twisted a strange way to most who looked at her.
“I got a pack of lettuce seeds from someone last time you were away actually.” She responded, holding up the book she’d been reading to show him that it hadn’t been pleasure reading; she’d been thinking the same thing as him and had found as much as she could on growing vegetables in the city. “We’d need wood to make the planters and nails to hold it together still; it could make a lot of noise and attract more of them. Other survivors might see it too once it starts growing but I think it would still be beneficial for us to grow our own food.” She slid her folded page into the book as she closed it on her lap. Today she was wearing one of the few dresses that they had found that fit her a few weeks ago so she would be able to be comfortable and have something else to wear when she was inside or what else they had was hanging by the open windows to dry. With what they’d found inside the library the girl had been able to set them up on the roof in such a way that they would catch as much rain water as possible for them to drink and use for washing but they always had to be careful because they never knew when it was going to rain again.
“I’ve been practicing with my slingshot too, with the rocks you bring back for me and I think I could hit a bird hard enough to daze it at least. Pigeons are small but they’d be better than canned who-knows-what. If we can get the planters to work we can expand them and be able to successfully sustain ourselves until we find a better, safer place for us to settle.” Purposefully, Anastasia ignored his comment on the ground floor, afraid to face what it was that waited for her downstairs, just like she tended to avoid going to the stairs as much as possible, favouring the upper floors and roof where most of the carnage was far enough away that it wasn’t personal for her. She still had nightmares about it, the way that that things nose crunched beneath her foot two months ago, how she’d hit it so hard that it’s brain had flattened beneath the thick volume and she’d dropped it. The stench of it was clear to her and she remembered all too well how that fear has tasted in her mouth. Sometimes she woke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat but silent, others it was a scream and her thrashing about that provoked John to rouse her and tell her that it was alright, that she wasn’t alone and it wasn’t real. But to her it was very real, and very hard to forget.
@Sven the Silent
Atlanta, Georgia
United States of America
James, I’ve been thinking lately, a lot more than usual, about you and wondering if you’re still alive but even if you’re not I will try my best to be hopeful anyway because I’m afraid of what I’ll do if you’re not okay anymore. John and I have been here for a while and he’s kind James, more so than I would have expected from anyone anymore and he spends his time talking to me or trying to find us things to survive while I attempt to make our little space easier to survive in. I know, it’s been weeks since I wrote last, a letter to a recipient that I might never see again, but it’s been a while since the I’ve felt that it’s pointless to try and smile, it’s been a long while since I saw anyone that wasn’t John and I’m afraid of what will happen if we’re the only people left really alive anymore. I can hear John coming so I’ll talk to you more later. –Anna
The young woman had started writing after she had found blank pages in one of the offices, letting the despair she felt some days onto the pages instead of into her smiles. Most days she spent her time with her face buried in a book, learning about something while John was away or instead conversing with him about anything to keep their minds off of what they knew was outside of the library or on the lower floor. Other days she would go with him, with her slingshot and the pouch she kept on her hip to carry her ammunition. Often when he was away she would take care of things here; a rather stereotypical female role but t was what she knew and could do because of her leg and asthma. With what skills she had she had managed to patch clothing after he’d brought back a sewing kit with him upon her request, since she’d pulled a hole in her shirt a few days prior to it.
She opened the pages of the book she’d been reading before she’d started writing just as the man walked into the room and over to her, taking a seat next to her on the window bench she seemed to love to read on while the dapples sunlight from the tree next to the library cast dancing shadows on the pages as she turned between them. Most students would take notes or the time to read the pages before flipping them though she had only to scan the contents to recall it perfectly from her own memories. Some had told her it was a gift, a blessing where no many tragedies had taken place in her life, but now it was more of a curse because of everything she’d seen since the beginning. It was a horrible mess of images and videos in her mind that she could never simply be rid of and wouldn’t fade like she was sure they would for John one day when they really were safe for the first time since the attack on the library. She shifted over as he sat down, crossing her legs at the ankles quietly, her bare feet hanging a mere two inches from the floor with her broken leg just barely twisted a strange way to most who looked at her.
“I got a pack of lettuce seeds from someone last time you were away actually.” She responded, holding up the book she’d been reading to show him that it hadn’t been pleasure reading; she’d been thinking the same thing as him and had found as much as she could on growing vegetables in the city. “We’d need wood to make the planters and nails to hold it together still; it could make a lot of noise and attract more of them. Other survivors might see it too once it starts growing but I think it would still be beneficial for us to grow our own food.” She slid her folded page into the book as she closed it on her lap. Today she was wearing one of the few dresses that they had found that fit her a few weeks ago so she would be able to be comfortable and have something else to wear when she was inside or what else they had was hanging by the open windows to dry. With what they’d found inside the library the girl had been able to set them up on the roof in such a way that they would catch as much rain water as possible for them to drink and use for washing but they always had to be careful because they never knew when it was going to rain again.
“I’ve been practicing with my slingshot too, with the rocks you bring back for me and I think I could hit a bird hard enough to daze it at least. Pigeons are small but they’d be better than canned who-knows-what. If we can get the planters to work we can expand them and be able to successfully sustain ourselves until we find a better, safer place for us to settle.” Purposefully, Anastasia ignored his comment on the ground floor, afraid to face what it was that waited for her downstairs, just like she tended to avoid going to the stairs as much as possible, favouring the upper floors and roof where most of the carnage was far enough away that it wasn’t personal for her. She still had nightmares about it, the way that that things nose crunched beneath her foot two months ago, how she’d hit it so hard that it’s brain had flattened beneath the thick volume and she’d dropped it. The stench of it was clear to her and she remembered all too well how that fear has tasted in her mouth. Sometimes she woke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat but silent, others it was a scream and her thrashing about that provoked John to rouse her and tell her that it was alright, that she wasn’t alone and it wasn’t real. But to her it was very real, and very hard to forget.
@Sven the Silent
