The small apartment smelled of dust and stale air, remnants of a time long past, when the world was still somewhat whole.
Rita sat on the faded couch, her knees drawn up to her chest as she absentmindedly chewed on a piece of stale bread.
The dim light from a broken window cast an orange hue across the room, and the ticking of a clock somewhere in the apartment reminded her how much time she had wasted.
She glanced around, her eyes scanning the walls, the floor, the ceiling. The place was falling apart — peeling paint, cracked tiles, rusted pipes.
But it was all she had left. She tried to ignore the gnawing hunger in her stomach, the hollow feeling that had become so familiar.
The apocalypse had taken everything from her — her family, her friends, even her sense of normalcy.
"Damn the apocalypse," Rita muttered to herself as she shoved another bit of bread into her mouth.
