So sit up and stretch. You feel sore and weak. Must still be under the weather from that fever that's been going around.
You open your sleep-crusted eyes and pause.
You room is dark--the shades and curtains drawn with only cracks of sunlight coming in around the edges. You always sleep with your curtains open and the shades half-open, so you can make sure you wake up with the sun after too many Freshmen-year mishaps.
Then the smell of dust and mold and sweat hits your nostrils like a sledgehammer as you glance around your room.
It looks like there's a tower of cans next to your bed.
Your clock is repeatedly flashing 13:57. You didn't even know it had a military time function.
>Give ourselves a quick shoulder massage and get up to look out the window.
You massage your shoulders. God that feels good. Were you sleeping on your back the whole time or something?
You get up and nearly fall to the floor. Your legs and very shaky under you, like they've forgotten your weight.
At this point, as you focus on your weight, you also notice you're a lot thinner than you remember being. Granted, you've never really had much body mass, but right now you're not sure you'd really be as mad as usual if someone mistook you for a boy.
You open the curtains and shades.
The street isn't just bare, it's overgrown. Weeds and grass poke out from obvious cracks and potholes in the pavement. The tress and hedges and lawns around your building--and, in fact, near every other building-- have gone wild. The grass is so high you wouldn't be surprised if it came up to your hips.
A few blocks south, it looks as though a fire has raged in the recent past. As your eyes adjust to the light, it looks like it took half the city with it. There's no sign of rebuilding, or even of rubble removal. There are no cars except parked cars. There are no people out, except for what looks to be a child standing in the middle of the road.
> Test our strength. Maybe we've been asleep so long we're no longer capable of mustering enough to open a door. Try to jolt it open.
You put all of your insignificant weight into opening the door. You think you hear something metal snap, and then the handle gives.
You open the door and are hit with more terrible smells. This must be where the mold smell is coming from.
You are in the main room of your two-bedroom apartment. There is no sign of Jill, your roommate.
Your fridge seems to have died a long time ago. The door is open and a carpet of fungus and slime covers both it and and surrounding area. The whole room is covered in a thick layer of dust. There are mouse and rat droppings everywhere, and your couch appears to have been murdered by rodents and insects.
You head to the stairs. The door groans as you open it and a breeze of rot and decay hits you before your eyes adjust to the red emergency lighting.
The stairs are full of dead people.
They've been here a while.
They line the flights, and go down and up as far as you can see at the moment--which isn't much, from the door. You can't identify them. They're rotten and putrid and festering and you assume they're your neighbors.
You double over and try to throw up, but nothing comes up but clear fluid.