Self-Preservation

Self-Preservation

A Story by Akroma


The scene unfolding outside seems as unattainable and fake as the smiling model banners wrapped around something on nearly every street corner. The buildings glow with internal fire and exhales of smoke stream through every opening. On the street, people run like frantic ants with a newly trampled home. At first the roads moved, but as time passes, more and more people hide back under ground, with the surface holding only those set on restoring the issue. Hoses go wild with hopeful wishes, soon to be crushed by an even angrier fire. It appears the challenge has been accepted, and the persistence only angers their antagonist.


Watching out the window on the fourteenth story, I am but a starry-eyed voyeur. The building here is composed of concrete, gated in, separate from the other entities. The fire has nowhere else to go, and the restriction is both comforting and shamefully entertaining. With limited options, the inevitable seems likely. The buildings across from here will burn and burn until only it's crumbling structure remained. The air and ground will be littered with ashes, the people will weep, and lastly, I'll hear the barrage of knocks on the door below me of those wanting refuge.


We are under strict order to keep the door shut. No one goes in, no one comes out


We were told, “It doesn't matter if a woman, holding her babies, sits outside for days, screaming for a single piece of bread....you do not,” his eyes darkened, “do not open the door.”


The “he” in my memory is no longer here. Unless he dissolved into vapors, his disappearance is suspect. How could he leave without first breaking his most important rule? The ones in charge say he is not gone, but rather hidden, due to his own needs for safety, and admittedly, his level of paranoia.


“Cass!” Maria yells when she sees me, lounging on the barred window sill. “It's a madhouse out there!”

“Yes,” I reply.

“What are we going to do?” she asks, her brown eyes projecting despair and worry, her fingers mashing together in some twisted, unnerving fashion.

“Nothing,” I say, returning my attentions to the mayhem below. “Absolutely nothing.”







© 2011 Akroma


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Added on October 8, 2011
Last Updated on October 10, 2011

Author

Akroma
Akroma

The Yellow Brick Road



About
Welcome aboard, Travelers! I go in and out of this reality, as does my writing. All feedback and critique is met with gratitude. more..

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