Zaire Amimi

Life in Tingalla was always quiet. ... One day, the weight on her chest lifted. Her bones still ached and her eyes still burned, but after a few labored breaths, she was able to stand on shaky legs. It was the tipping point and she had fell on the right side of the hill. Zaire didn’t attempt to check on her family. It was clear that they had already passed. The first indication came when they stopped trying to care for her through their own sickness. They fell victim to the inability to move after that. But, Zaire could still hear their presence in the house. One fell off within two days, the other within five. After that, she stopped keeping track of the days. It wouldn’t have mattered because she wasn’t going to survive. She wasn’t supposed to. She was going to join her parents on whatever plane they went to after this because he had killed them all. No one was supposed to survive this. She made her way out of the house. The calendar had been flipped to June, the first square checked off. She wondered how many days had passed since that mark had been made. Dad was asleep on his chair. The front door wasn’t even locked as she pushed on it, setting a foot on the dusty porch. Normally she’d put on a coat and her shoes, but her eyes didn’t even wander over them as she left. Outside the streets were quiet, unusually quiet. While there normally weren’t any loud cars or busy roads you could still hear the shuffling of people in their homes, see them on the porch or walking down the sidewalk. Even all of the lights in the buildings were off. Zaire guessed that it was probably around ten in the morning. She really was the only one left. Her head hurt. Back in her home she finally grabbed a glass of water and ate some bread that still didn’t have any mold on it. Most of the stuff in the fridge was bad already. Before drinking water, she didn’t realize how dry her throat had become, but it made sense considering she had been stuck to the floor for days.