A shiver runs through me, jerking me awake. My eyes flutter open, heavy and swollen, still stinging from the dried, crusty tears.

  The sun hangs low and orange, streaking the bruised, purple clouds over the ocean with stunning pinks and fierce reds as it dips toward the horizon. It’s beautiful. Unreal. I stare for a moment, mesmerized, unable to pull my eyes away. But it’s much colder now; it’s seeping into me and it brings me back to myself, my reality.

  The biting wind is sharp on my exposed skin. Tiny drops of water cling to my eyelashes and prickle my cheeks and my exposed legs. It’s drizzling. My neck is stiff and my whole body aches, like I've been sleeping on sharp rocks. Everything is wet, my clothes damp and cold.

  It’s miserable, painful, but I feel numb inside. Empty. All the air and fight gone out of me. The wind still tugs at my hair, burning cold against my wet skin, but it doesn’t bother me anymore. Nothing really bothers me, not in the way it did before. There’s just the heavy, hollow ache, all that’s left of the cold rock in my chest.

  I need to move; I have to move; but I can’t. I could just lie here and join them. What’s the point in going on? There is no point. None.

  The drizzle turns to rain, light and steady. Cold drops shower the tarred roof and my face, but I don’t have it in me to get up. I’m just too tired. I’m too cold and too wet, and I don’t want to. I can’t.

  I lift my head, slowly, and look out across the silent town. Still no movement, no sign of anyone. It’s like a picture, except it isn't a picture. It’s real. And I’m in it. Alone. The word echoes in my head, soft at first, then louder and louder, until it’s all I can hear. Alone. Alone. Alone!

  Staying up here feels wrong now. It’s too open. Too exposed. I feel like I’m being watched, even though I know there’s no one left. The stark expanse above is a single, gigantic eye, perpetually open, perpetually staring right at me. I’m the only one left to look at and I hate it.

  The black tar of the roof is cold beneath me, now slick with rain, forming small puddles and streams that trickle away towards the gutters. My tummy gives a loud rumble—a deep, hollow sound that surprises me. I haven't eaten since this morning, since the blue Otees I didn’t even finish. That feels like a lifetime ago. I’m hungry.

  Get up. It’s like a voice. Get up! It’s not a voice. It’s a feeling. A clawing feeling in my chest, a burning feeling in my heart, in my arms and in my legs. Food. Water. Shelter. I know what I need.

  “Food, water, shelter.” I repeat the words out loud, pushing the "alone" word away just a little bit. Survival. I don't even know what that means. But I know I can't stay here in the rain.

  I need to find somewhere safe before the sun goes down completely, but there, inside, down the stairs in all those hallways, classrooms… The still shapes. The unmoving forms. A fresh wave of icy fear washes over me. I can't go back into those classrooms. I can’t.

  And then the rain really starts to fall. Big, fat droplets, like bumble bees, streaking from the sky and exploding all around me. I jump up and dash back inside, totally soaked through. There’s even water in my shoes. Great.

  The stairwell is a little warmer than outside in the rain, but it doesn't make me feel any better. I shiver, my teeth chattering, and pull my arms tight around myself, wringing my hands, trying to warm them. My clothes stick to my body uncomfortably; I know I have to get them off. Mom always says you get sick if you stay in wet clothes when it's cold.

  Mom. I miss you. I need to get dry. Clothes or a blanket, or something. And water—my throat is so dry, my mouth, my lips are sticky and ragged like sandpaper, and my tongue feels too big. I can barely swallow.

  My feet follow the corridor like they know where they’re going. Tucked away beside the old art room at the base of the stairs, far from the main hallways, is a small storeroom. It even has a sign on it. STOREROOM, it says in big, bold letters.

  I try the handle and push the door inwards; it sticks a little and finally moves, a sharp squeak breaking the silence and making me jump. It's pitch dark inside, black as night. I find the light switch and slip through the crack, pulling the door closed behind me. I guess this is it. Home, for now.

  Home.

  The room is strangely warm, much warmer than the halls and classrooms. Almost cozy. The drumming rain is barely audible in here, a soft, steady sound that makes the deep quiet inside the little room feel even bigger. The shelves are stacked with dusty boxes, and some old cleaning supplies in a bucket in the corner. It smells clean, like floor polish and bleach, kind of sharp but also… safe. I guess. Safe from what?

  I throw off my wet shoes, wiggling my cold toes in the air. My feet look pale and wrinkly, like I've been in the bath too long. With my knees pulled up to my chest, I wrap my arms around myself, trying to make myself small, trying to warm up.

  I huddle there for a long time, listening to the rain fall outside, feeling the warmth of the small room seep into my chilled body. It’s not much, just enough to stop the worst of the shivers. The light from the small bulb hanging from the ceiling glows softly, making the shadows long and friendly. It’s quiet here, a deep, peaceful quiet that makes the emptiness outside seem far away.

  I pull my knees tighter to my chest and try to remember what Mom always says about being warm. "You have to stay dry, sweetie. Wet clothes make you sick." My uniform still feels like ice against my skin, chilling me to the bone even though the room is kind of warm. It’s gross, sticking, making my skin prickle. I need to change; I need to get dry.

  Then I remember the nurse’s office. They always have blankets and extra clothes for kids who get sick or have accidents. Maybe towels too. My mind latches onto the thought; it’s all I have. That’s where I’ll go. I can’t stay here forever, even if it feels safe.

  Taking a deep breath, I pull open the storeroom door, trying to make the squeak quieter this time. My bare feet make squishing sounds as I walk; the floor is cold and hard, and I shiver, pulling my wet uniform tighter around me. I move carefully, trying not to make too much noise, my ears straining for any sound other than the rain but there’s nothing, not a single sound.

  I know the nurse’s office is near the main entrance, so I turn left and start down the long corridor. My eyes stay glued to the floor, just like when I came into the school; I don’t want to look at the other classrooms or the still shapes that are everywhere, that I can’t help but see. It doesn’t help to look away, to pretend they’re not there; they’re there, they’re everywhere.

  My tummy gives another loud grumble, a hollow growl demanding my attention. I'll need to find something to eat. I just need to get to the nurse’s office; I just need to get what I need and go back to the storeroom. That’s all. I don’t want to be here.

  Finally, I reach the nurse’s office. I try the door handle and push a little too hard. My heart gives a tiny flutter as I lose my balance a bit and the door swings effortlessly, almost soundlessly away from me. Inside, I focus on what I need.

  Don't look at the still shape. The school nurse is slumped by the exam bed. I know it’s her, I just know. The room is clean and tidy with the same fresh smell that lingers everywhere and there’s not much to look at. One exam bed, surrounded by a blue curtain that hides the far end of the room, a desk and chair and a big, shiny storage locker in the corner.

  The cabinet door opens with a loud metallic scrape—it's not locked! Blankets! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Soft, white towels! Clean, dry clothes!

  I pull off my wet uniform. The cold air instantly finds my damp skin, making me shiver violently. My knees throb, raw and stinging where I fell on the roof. I dab at the scraped skin gently with the towel, wincing. It hurts. I rub the towel quickly over my body and hair, drying myself as fast as I can. Then I wrap the thickest blanket around me, pulling it tight under my chin and bouncing gently on my toes to warm up. Oh, it feels so warm and fluffy!

  The cold slowly creeps from my bones, replaced by a deep, comforting warmth that spreads through my fingers and toes. My shivers slowly get smaller and smaller until they're just tiny little jiggles under the blanket. My eyes close for a moment, my body just soaking in the warmth. Being dry again. It's the best feeling in the world and for a tiny second, I forget everything.

  My throat still feels like sandpaper, though. I open my eyes and look around. There’s a basin in here. I’ve been in here before when I sprained my ankle on the playground. It’s near the window. I practically run to the end of the room, turn the tap and gulp down the cool, wonderful water until my tummy feels full and my throat isn’t scratchy anymore. That feels so good.

  But now I’ve got to eat.

  My tummy rumbles again, loud and deep; a vicious, tearing feeling that seems to vibrate my entire body. I take a deep breath, the comforting arms of the blanket finally settling me into a sort of numb acceptance of the lingering chill, a quiet truce with the cold. But my head doesn’t feel so fuzzy now that I’ve had a drink, the fog replaced by the sharp, persistent pang in my stomach.

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  I turn towards the door, my gaze fixed on the hallway beyond. Food. I need to find some food. And I know I’m not going to find it in here. The nurse’s office is for bandages and sick kids, not snacks.

  Reception. There are vending machines in the lobby by reception, just round the corner.

  Stepping back into the quiet hallway, I glance around me. It’s so very quiet, like the world has become a library. It’s dark too; the sun is gone and the only light outside the entrance doors is from the cold white streetlamps. The still figures outside are nothing but black blobs with long shadows stretching out across the grey ground.

  The silence is so heavy I can hear my blood pumping in my ears. I start walking, wrapped in my blanket, my bare feet padding softly on the cold linoleum that doesn’t feel quite so cold anymore. My eyes still stay glued to the floor, avoiding the shapes.

  Three tall, bright rectangles of light greet me against the gloom as I turn the corner to reception, full of chips and chocolate bars, fizzy drinks and other snacks. My tummy growls even louder. I’m so hungry now, so hungry. My mouth starts to water and I press my face against the cool glass, looking at all the choices. A big bag of salty chips, a chocolate bar with nuts, a sweet, fizzy juice all calling my name; glistening, shiny promises of satiation.

  I start to reach for my pocket for money, but my fingers only find bare skin beneath the blanket; electricity jumps from my fingers into my thigh, a sharp jolt of realization. Oh, I don’t have any money. I never bring money to school. Mom… mom always makes my lunch, but I don’t have it with me; all my stuff is still at home.

  Different, everything is different but the same; rules… Now what do I do?

  My shoulders drop. This is much harder than I thought. How am I going to get food from here? It needs coins. Maybe… maybe I can shake it? I try pushing the machine, but it’s too big, too heavy. I try pulling, but it doesn’t move even a little. I hit the glass gently with my hand, then a little harder. Nothing; nothing but a loud, hollow “duff” as my palm connects with the solid glass.

  The hot, rich taste of sweet, sweet chocolate flits across my tongue but the snacks just sit there, sparkling in the light, looking delicious, taunting me. My fist strikes the glass again almost of its own volition and I let out a sharp, disgusted sigh.

  I sit down on the cold floor in front of the machine, pulling the blanket tighter around me. My stomach hurts from being so empty. My eyes sting again, but I won’t cry. Not now. I have to think. If I can’t get food from here, where else can I go? I don’t want to go back outside in the dark. And I definitely don't want to go back to my house.

  There must be other places in the school where there’s food. Places that don’t need money. Like… the staff room? Or maybe someone left a lunchbox in their locker? But searching through lockers… it’s stealing. The still shapes in the lobby are watching me. It’s… wrong. It’s wrong to take what isn’t yours. And we’re not allowed in the staff room.

  But I'm so hungry, the pain is eating a hole in me, like an icy finger pushing through my belly, radiating a chilling weakness through my limbs. What do I do? I bite my lip and look up at the ceiling.

  There’s no one here. No one at all. The thought echoes in my head. No one to see me. No one to tell me off. No one to give me a demerit or send me to the principal's office. What are rules if there’s no one to make me obey them? Old, dried-up spiderwebs that just break when you touch them; light and wispy on the tips of my fingers like they’re not even there; dissolving with little more than a thought.

  I look back at the vending machine. All those snacks. So close.

  My eyes trace the lines of the vending machine, from the shiny coin slot to the little door where the snacks drop. Tension like a coiled spring is building in my chest as my heart thumps harder and my breaths kind of stick in my lungs. It’s wrong. I can see mom’s face in my mind, not frowning, not angry… disappointed. Ghosts. Ghosts everywhere, silently judging me.

  It’s not fair! The machine is built like a tank. But all those delicious chips and chocolates are just sitting there, waiting. And I'm so, so hungry. I could really use a chocolate right now. A big one. My stomach gives another loud, painful rumble.

  I push myself up, still wrapped in the thick blanket, staring at the machine. It’s tall, taller than me. My reflection, hazy in the glass, looks tiny and scared; a trapped, desperate face gaping back at me. I frown at myself and stick out my tongue but immediately feel stupid and childish. I shake my head and look away, tracing the big metal box with my eyes.

  There's a little metal grid at the bottom of the machine, where the snacks fall. Could I pry it open? I try wiggling my fingers into the space, but it's too narrow. I pull with all my strength but the cold, hard metal is solid and immovable; it just digs into my aching fingers, leaving thin white dents and doesn’t yield even a tiny, little bit.

  What if I could just... break the glass?

  The thought makes my heart beat faster, a little wild drum against my ribs. My hands feel cold and clammy, a phantom touch running up my spine. Mom… I feel her eyes on me. She never got mad, never shouted, but I know… I know she’d hate this. But Mom isn't here. Nobody is.

  My tummy is aching so much that I can’t stop clenching my teeth. I bite my lip, hard enough to feel the sting, trying to push all the faces away. The voice in my head, soft and gentle—Mom—telling me to use my words, not my hands; telling me to ask for things. But there's no one to ask.

  I look around the empty lobby. There’s no one. No one is watching. No one will ever know.

  No one will ever know…

  I turn around, searching, looking for something, anything heavy. My eyes land on a metal waste bin near the corner, a few empty soda cans next to it on the floor, and a heavy, old fire extinguisher, hanging on its hook right next to it. It’s bright red and shiny, and it’s just perfect.

  My heart skips. I grab it and lift it from the wall. It’s heavier than it looks, so heavy, but I manage to get it down, dragging it towards the vending machines. The metal scrapes faintly on the floor, soft, but grating in my mind like nails down a chalkboard. The cold, hard cylinder weighing on me, clutching, squeezing and pulling on my tummy, stabbing and prodding and burning; a hooked serrated knife, ripping and tearing through a loaf of bread.

  It’s all I can think, all I can feel as I carefully drag it into position. When I aim the nozzle at the glass, my hands are shaking violently; the anticipation, drowning me in ice-cold water that just feels… wrong. I have to, I have to, I have to! This feels really wrong. All of it just feels so wrong.

  I close my eyes for a second, picturing the chocolate bar. The smooth, sweet taste; the crunch of the nuts; my mouth still watering. Okay. Just one. For now.

  I lift the extinguisher, gritting my teeth, and swing as hard as I can.

  SMASH!

  The sound explodes in the silent lobby, echoing like thunder. Glass shatters, raining down onto the floor with a loud, tinkling crash. My eyes fly open. Thousands of little pieces scatter across the floor, glinting in the dim light. I drop the extinguisher with a clank. My hands are still shaking, but a strange, thrilling surge goes through me. I did it. I actually did it!

  I reach towards the empty space where the window was. For some reason I feel like it might reappear just to mess with me. My fingers stretch, reaching for the promised chocolate. My fingertips brush against the wrapper, the anticipation, the unbearable yearning building savagely inside me as I stare at the chocolate bar, finally in my hand.

  It feels cool and solid. I quickly tear open the wrapper, the crinkle of the foil sounding so loud in the quiet. I take a huge bite. Oh. It’s… amazing. The sweet, rich taste fills my mouth, coating my tongue. The nuts crunch. It’s even better than I imagined. I chew slowly, savoring every bit and the aching pain goes away.

  As I finish the first chocolate bar, I’m already reaching back in for another. And another. Soon, a small pile of chocolates and a bag of chips sits beside me. I tear into the chips, the saltiness tastes so good with the chocolate; explosions of flavour that make my jaw ache but I can’t stop chewing, can’t stop tasting the delicious, glorious warmth that’s rolling through my entire body. I eat until my stomach doesn’t hurt anymore, until it feels full and warm. It's the first time all day I've felt this full.

  I lean back against the vending machine, crumbs on my blanket and chocolate smeared on my face, just breathing, feeling the aching emptiness fade away. The heavy, cold ache in my chest… it’s still there, a little, but it feels smaller now, bearable.

  The broken glass and empty wrappers feel like eyes, watching, judging me. I didn’t ask permission. I just took what I wanted, I broke the machine... And no one stopped me. The old rules really are like spiderwebs, gone with a touch. I feel weirdly guilty, but more than that, I feel sad. Sad that there’s no one to tell me off. Sad that there’s no one.

  The lobby is silent again, except for the soft pitter-patter of rain against the windows. I can’t stay here. I need to go back to the storeroom. It feels safer there and I’m tired. I gather my remaining snacks – three more chocolate bars and two bags of chips. That should last a while and the machine’s not going anywhere.

  I pull the blanket tight around me; soft, fluffy fingers caressing my skin, and start the long walk back through the vacant halls. Finally, I reach the storeroom door. It squeaks again, but I don't jump this time. I slip inside, pulling the door closed behind me, standing there for a moment in a kind of daze.

  The light’s still on—the small bulb glows with that warm, yellow light, one of those funny old globes with the wire in it you never see around. They feel warmer than the lights we use now, the cold white ones. The yellowish light makes the room feel safe. Safer than anywhere else, anyway. Safer than the halls with all the still shapes. Safer than outside.

  My gaze sweeps the little room, taking in my new home. The shelves are crammed with all kinds of junk. Not with story books or toys, just old, forgotten boxes, chipped paint cans, and dusty stacks of textbooks no one will ever read again.

  I pull a few empty cardboard boxes from their shelves, dumping them in the back corner, then stack them, one by one, into a small platform just high enough to lift my blanket off the cold, hard concrete. It’s no soft mattress, nothing like my bed at home, but the rough cardboard feels strangely comforting beneath me, creaking and giving way, almost imperceptibly as I move. It’s nothing special, but it’s something, a small victory against the biting cold.

  I arrange my precious, remaining chocolate bars and chip bags on a nearby box for later and take one last look around. Finally, I sit, snuggle into my blanket, pulling my knees tight to my chest, and close my eyes.

  The world goes dark but a flood of feelings, sounds and smells still linger in my every nerve. The boxes stave off the freezing concrete claws and the heat of my body slowly builds, cloaking me in a bubble of warmth as the darkness behind my eyelids pulls me ever closer to sleep.

  The rain outside is a soft, steady murmur against the school roof, like a whisper I just can’t make out. A secret the world is telling itself in some language I can’t understand. It’s everywhere, too vast and too quiet for me to truly hear. It feels immense, this quiet. Huge, and empty. So, so empty.

  Odd smells and hard, rough cardboard against my bare skin; everything feels so alien in this place though I’ve been here for so many years, since I was just little. Floor polish, bleach, the dusty dryness of heaps of forgotten paper and the sharp, lingering scent of paint and thinners. It’s a jumble of memory that goes on and on, branching out into the countless days I spent in these halls; but this is not my home, not my bed, not my life.

  It’s not even my world anymore, but I’m here. I’m tired, and there’s nothing left to do. Nothing left but sleep. Just sleep. Sleep and hope that tomorrow’s another day, that this has all been a terrible dream… but I don’t think so.

  Maybe this is all that’s left for me; maybe this is what survival means?

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  Elara's not going down without a fight—and they may get hungry while they wait.

  Next Update: Tuesday at 3:00 PM SAST