2nd Draft

Draft 2

Dawn snatched me from my sleep with an anguished howl of salty air. Alone. I was now alone. I looked out across the wasted planes. From the charcoal of the burnt tree husks to the off-white the snow had taken due to the ash diluted into it, my sight was met by a landscape painted in faded greys. I had to keep moving, now was a time which deprived us of the rights to luxury we had taken for granted. Nesting was one of them. I had made camp on the coast, in the dunes. Not to far from what I suppose has been a small fishing town. Its just a ghost town now, it's no longer safe but there might be food.

Ash and sand blew through the air, stinging my eyes. The dust got everywhere. Choking, clotting, blinding dust. I unassembled the makeshift bed that would soon be on my back along with all my possessions, which mainly consisted of a knife, tarpoline, rags, odd shoes and a leather pouch which I used to keep food. It had been empty for weeks. I stripped down to wash before I left for the town. I caught my relfection in the blade of my knife. It brought back memories of school history lessons. A flesh coloured skeleton of Auschwitz gleamed from that blade showing my mortality. I coughed with disgust at myself. A cough that shredded my throat. Blood mixed with ash and phlem pooled in my hand. Examining it, I knew there was too much this time. I was deeply sick.

The hazed sky was beating down upon me. The world became a whole lot harsher with each burning second of daylight. I was on the road. Standing on the outskirts of the town. Watching. Searching the windows for any signs of movement. Nothing moves in the derlict remains of the town. I examine the buildings, there is a supermarket across a snow covered clearing. No trees, no rocks, nothing but 100 metres of open ground between me and it. I dont't think. As my stomach begins to pang with hunger pains I don't need to think. My feet take leave of the road and make their way towards the abandoned building. The snow is deep here, its well above my knee. I struggle to make ground as my feet sink deeply into the cold searching for solid ground.
Good, the harder it is to get to it means the chances of there being food increase. I think to myself as I wade through the snow that is numbing my limbs. Half way across now, the ground beneath me is slippery, like glass. I hear a creaking, like wood bending. I step forward. My foot breaks through the ground and is met by freezing water. My blood pumps faster, my drenched foot could only mean one thing. I was standing in the middle of a frozen lake. Another creak as the ice beneath me started to shift again. I had to keep moving, the only alternative was to drown.