and smell the smoke of fires
wisping their way up out of the subway tunnels. Though I was
desperate for human contact, I could not fathom venturing into
those depths. Though it hadn’t happened in years, the old subway
cars used to lose their lights once in a while. It would only
happen for a moment, but the riders would be enclosed in the
darkness with nothing but the smoldering yellow of the track lights
as illumination. During those times, people would let out
exasperated sighs and businessmen would look up from their papers,
perturbed at the interruption of their reading. Then the lights
would come back on and everything would return to normal. But that
would not be so now. I knew that those tunnels would be black as
pitch with just those fires to cast terrifying shadows.
Again, not for me.
The dawn light left me feeling alone and
exposed. If asked, I wouldn’t have been able to name a possible
danger, and yet I had a terrible sense of dread. I felt the need to
be indoors so I took to one of the west side apartment buildings.
By then I had reached upper midtown, my walk having become more
manic and less touristy. The lobby of the building was, thankfully,
devoid of bodies. The security doors had been blasted off of their
hinges and a single elevator directly opposite them was missing,
the doors open to a gaping hole. I bypassed it and went for the
stairs. Though that door, too, had fallen off, the stairs
themselves were in a fair state. I was able to walk up the flights
with little caution. Instinctively, I went up three flights, as if
this was my building and I was going to my apartment. There were
actually several doors that were closed and looked very normal, but
I left them alone. I chose instead, an open door, letting myself
slowly into the foyer.
Though the damage was extensive, I could
still see remnants of its last occupation. The living room was
narrow with two bookshelves flanking a TV stand. The TV was gone.
The last vestiges of a brown and orange throw rug and a brown couch
were littered about the room along with other debris. There was
also a window that led to a fire escape, but it was broken. Letting
myself into the bathroom, I saw cracked tile, gouged walls, and a
toilet empty of water. Still, it had been several hours, and one
year, since I’d had the opportunity to use the bathroom and old
habits die hard. When I was finished, old habits prevailed as I
tried to flush, but there was just an empty click. I left the
bathroom, pulling the door shut (or as shut as it would shut)
behind me. At last, I made my way to the bedroom. The furniture was
in the same style as the living room, but what really caught my
attention was the full sized bed and mattress that was dirty, but
intact. There were no clean sheets or blankets. In fact, there were
no sheets or blankets at all. The apartment had been cleaned out. I
assumed by scavengers.
With nothing else for it and the low after an
adrenaline high crushing my bones and muscles with fatigue, I lay
my coat over the dirty mattress, crawled onto the bed, and fell
quickly asleep.
I was awakened by the sound of helicopter
blades in the distance. Upon opening my eyes, I was so disoriented
that panic set in quickly. Where was I? Who was I? Frozen in fear,
I could do nothing but lay there and listen to the roto roto roto
of the chopper. It was getting closer.
As the memories came back, I began to relax a
little. Truthfully, reality was not much comfort, but at least it
was grounded. I rolled over, having taken my most comfortable
position of sleeping on my stomach, and stared at the ceiling. The
light had gone mostly from the room, day having faded into night.
But there was light, a foreign light penetrating from the street
below. Startled at this realization, I sat up and looked around. I
was alone. It wasn’t the helicopter, which still sounded far off,
but a source, or several sources, from down below. The beams
flashed through the broken window and bounced off
wisping their way up out of the subway tunnels. Though I was
desperate for human contact, I could not fathom venturing into
those depths. Though it hadn’t happened in years, the old subway
cars used to lose their lights once in a while. It would only
happen for a moment, but the riders would be enclosed in the
darkness with nothing but the smoldering yellow of the track lights
as illumination. During those times, people would let out
exasperated sighs and businessmen would look up from their papers,
perturbed at the interruption of their reading. Then the lights
would come back on and everything would return to normal. But that
would not be so now. I knew that those tunnels would be black as
pitch with just those fires to cast terrifying shadows.
Again, not for me.
The dawn light left me feeling alone and
exposed. If asked, I wouldn’t have been able to name a possible
danger, and yet I had a terrible sense of dread. I felt the need to
be indoors so I took to one of the west side apartment buildings.
By then I had reached upper midtown, my walk having become more
manic and less touristy. The lobby of the building was, thankfully,
devoid of bodies. The security doors had been blasted off of their
hinges and a single elevator directly opposite them was missing,
the doors open to a gaping hole. I bypassed it and went for the
stairs. Though that door, too, had fallen off, the stairs
themselves were in a fair state. I was able to walk up the flights
with little caution. Instinctively, I went up three flights, as if
this was my building and I was going to my apartment. There were
actually several doors that were closed and looked very normal, but
I left them alone. I chose instead, an open door, letting myself
slowly into the foyer.
Though the damage was extensive, I could
still see remnants of its last occupation. The living room was
narrow with two bookshelves flanking a TV stand. The TV was gone.
The last vestiges of a brown and orange throw rug and a brown couch
were littered about the room along with other debris. There was
also a window that led to a fire escape, but it was broken. Letting
myself into the bathroom, I saw cracked tile, gouged walls, and a
toilet empty of water. Still, it had been several hours, and one
year, since I’d had the opportunity to use the bathroom and old
habits die hard. When I was finished, old habits prevailed as I
tried to flush, but there was just an empty click. I left the
bathroom, pulling the door shut (or as shut as it would shut)
behind me. At last, I made my way to the bedroom. The furniture was
in the same style as the living room, but what really caught my
attention was the full sized bed and mattress that was dirty, but
intact. There were no clean sheets or blankets. In fact, there were
no sheets or blankets at all. The apartment had been cleaned out. I
assumed by scavengers.
With nothing else for it and the low after an
adrenaline high crushing my bones and muscles with fatigue, I lay
my coat over the dirty mattress, crawled onto the bed, and fell
quickly asleep.
I was awakened by the sound of helicopter
blades in the distance. Upon opening my eyes, I was so disoriented
that panic set in quickly. Where was I? Who was I? Frozen in fear,
I could do nothing but lay there and listen to the roto roto roto
of the chopper. It was getting closer.
As the memories came back, I began to relax a
little. Truthfully, reality was not much comfort, but at least it
was grounded. I rolled over, having taken my most comfortable
position of sleeping on my stomach, and stared at the ceiling. The
light had gone mostly from the room, day having faded into night.
But there was light, a foreign light penetrating from the street
below. Startled at this realization, I sat up and looked around. I
was alone. It wasn’t the helicopter, which still sounded far off,
but a source, or several sources, from down below. The beams
flashed through the broken window and bounced off
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