Dead State - Original Vision Fiction

6:30 AM

Woke up. Good, so far. Had that same hope for a few minutes, the one where I walk outside and hear the sounds of traffic and sprinklers and anything but that persistent wail. I remember breakfast at Pam’s for an instant, and then I realize that, even less than a week later, I’m beginning to forget the smaller details of her face.

Ever since Mr. Phillips died in his sleep, I lock my door at night. Can’t even walk in the hallway without carrying a tire iron – I like to call it my bathroom pass. When the toilets stop working, I think then, that’s when we’ll all really start to panic. Until then, the flush is like a hug from Mom. I’m so thankful that she died several years ago.

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