heart struck wildly in my chest at the noise, my pulse quickening in fear. I knew they wouldn’t come, but I wasn’t going to take any chances. I waited, wasting precious minutes with the water, until I knew I was safe.
I stripped down to my underwear quickly and threw my clothes into the bathtub, flinging the ones in the laundry basket in after them before I stepped in, my hands moving to unweave the dirty braid I always kept my red hair in. Even though, thanks to the dark and the gross soap, I don’t think my hair was red anymore; more like a dark auburn. Anne Shirley would be proud. Of course, she didn’t have to live in post-apocalyptic hell for hers to darken.
I cringed as the water hit my bare back, hating the frigid temperature, though loving the feel of water against my skin and the clean that would come after. When I first started having to bathe this way, it always made me think of that “Forefathers” stuff they throw at you in school.
Pioneers trekking across plains, paying for water, hunting, wars over liberty and freedom. That’s what I thought it would be at first. Wars until everything got better. People standing up to the monsters.
Yet, even when people had stood up against them, they were squashed down quickly. I had listened to the first battle in the dark and for almost a year after that I would watch from my window as others would try again.
Old men, lonely and crazed, would rush out of their house while wielding handmade weapons and screaming for freedom. Depressed mothers, trying to get their children to a safety that no one knew existed. Small armies wandering through the streets only to be picked off one by one as the car they traveled in was torn to shreds.
I still held out hope that someone was still trying, somewhere, but with only primitive weapons and instant death waiting, there was nothing I could do. I wasn’t dumb enough to run out into the street and expect to defeat them. At the very least, I would like a little hot water, however.
I grabbed the bright yellow bar of soap and ran it over my skin and through my hair as I jumped and hissed at the ice water that ran over me. One quick run over with soap and I moved to my clothes lathering and squeezing and wringing in an attempt to get them at least partially clean.
I wasn’t sure I had gotten them all, but it was better than nothing. The water continued to hit my skin as I grabbed the water bottles, filling them one after another before the water could shut off. It had already been at least ten minutes, most of that wasted waiting for a screech and I didn’t have much time. The water would shut off any minute and then I wouldn’t have enough water for drinking.
I had learned that lesson the hard way. Taking a twenty minute cold shower wasn’t the best idea and having no water was even sillier. Filling water bottle was now a priority. I hadn’t gotten to the point of filling water bottles at first the way Cohen did; I wanted to feel clean at least a little bit. Even if I was eating mold I still wanted a shower and clean clothes, probably more so after the mold thing.
I reached for the last three bottles and began filling them, my pace increasing as I heard the bell in the distance. My time was gone. Even though I had more than ten filled, I would need every last one. I set two down and focused on the bottle in my hand, my pulse increasing as I moved faster with my desperation to get the last of them before the water would shut off.
“Come on, come on, come on,” I hissed and shook the water bottle underneath the shower of water, as if the movement would help them to fill faster.
The last bottle was almost full when the strength in my hand gave out and the water bottle slipped from my grasp, shooting itself through the air and toward the toilet. I flailed as it sped away from me; my arm shooting out to grab it, swinging through the air. I had almost caught the bottle when my feet got tangled in the clothes piled at my
I stripped down to my underwear quickly and threw my clothes into the bathtub, flinging the ones in the laundry basket in after them before I stepped in, my hands moving to unweave the dirty braid I always kept my red hair in. Even though, thanks to the dark and the gross soap, I don’t think my hair was red anymore; more like a dark auburn. Anne Shirley would be proud. Of course, she didn’t have to live in post-apocalyptic hell for hers to darken.
I cringed as the water hit my bare back, hating the frigid temperature, though loving the feel of water against my skin and the clean that would come after. When I first started having to bathe this way, it always made me think of that “Forefathers” stuff they throw at you in school.
Pioneers trekking across plains, paying for water, hunting, wars over liberty and freedom. That’s what I thought it would be at first. Wars until everything got better. People standing up to the monsters.
Yet, even when people had stood up against them, they were squashed down quickly. I had listened to the first battle in the dark and for almost a year after that I would watch from my window as others would try again.
Old men, lonely and crazed, would rush out of their house while wielding handmade weapons and screaming for freedom. Depressed mothers, trying to get their children to a safety that no one knew existed. Small armies wandering through the streets only to be picked off one by one as the car they traveled in was torn to shreds.
I still held out hope that someone was still trying, somewhere, but with only primitive weapons and instant death waiting, there was nothing I could do. I wasn’t dumb enough to run out into the street and expect to defeat them. At the very least, I would like a little hot water, however.
I grabbed the bright yellow bar of soap and ran it over my skin and through my hair as I jumped and hissed at the ice water that ran over me. One quick run over with soap and I moved to my clothes lathering and squeezing and wringing in an attempt to get them at least partially clean.
I wasn’t sure I had gotten them all, but it was better than nothing. The water continued to hit my skin as I grabbed the water bottles, filling them one after another before the water could shut off. It had already been at least ten minutes, most of that wasted waiting for a screech and I didn’t have much time. The water would shut off any minute and then I wouldn’t have enough water for drinking.
I had learned that lesson the hard way. Taking a twenty minute cold shower wasn’t the best idea and having no water was even sillier. Filling water bottle was now a priority. I hadn’t gotten to the point of filling water bottles at first the way Cohen did; I wanted to feel clean at least a little bit. Even if I was eating mold I still wanted a shower and clean clothes, probably more so after the mold thing.
I reached for the last three bottles and began filling them, my pace increasing as I heard the bell in the distance. My time was gone. Even though I had more than ten filled, I would need every last one. I set two down and focused on the bottle in my hand, my pulse increasing as I moved faster with my desperation to get the last of them before the water would shut off.
“Come on, come on, come on,” I hissed and shook the water bottle underneath the shower of water, as if the movement would help them to fill faster.
The last bottle was almost full when the strength in my hand gave out and the water bottle slipped from my grasp, shooting itself through the air and toward the toilet. I flailed as it sped away from me; my arm shooting out to grab it, swinging through the air. I had almost caught the bottle when my feet got tangled in the clothes piled at my
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