This is part 2 of a 5 part short story series. While they may be read in any order, you can read part one by clicking on this link.
Errol is dead. And it is raining.
There was nowhere else to escape from the rain, so I sat in a small metal box. People used to come here to watch some sort of game, so I was told. From the pictures, I know that this was where the "players" of this game would sit. I don't remember that. No had time for games when I was young, or when I was old.
I recently arrived in the city and I'd never seen a structure as amazing as this, so I decided to investigate. Unfortunately, there was nothing left here. Only some old food that rotted long ago and a few pieces of paper that had pictures of this box and the many chairs just outside. They also showed people on the field. It seemed fun, but it wasn't very useful.
Despite the inconvenience, the rain was a welcome change from the silence. Watching the drops of water fall from edge of the tin ceiling was almost meditative. I breathed in and out. The bad thing about the rain was that it forced me to stay in this little area. There was nothing to do. I stood up and paced around, rubbing my hands on my head and then dropping them to my neck. I repeated this several times but my mind wouldn't stop thinking. I wished it would be quiet.
Drip, drip, drip, drip.
The raindrops fell rapidly from the edge of the roof. I watched them. I counted them.
Why did Errol die? He would've loved the rain. He would've wanted to play in the puddles once it was all over. He loved mud.
Drip, drip, drip.
Why did he have to wander off? Why hadn't he listened to me? I knew it was too dangerous, I knew that he shouldn't be out alone. This was all his fault! If he'd just stayed with me like I told him to, he'd still be alive.
Drip, drip, drip, drip.
He'd still be alive and I wouldn't be alone. I am so alone. I have never been this alone before and I hate it. I hate that Errol left me here alone, I hate that everyone else left too, I hate that I'm all that's left, I hate that there isn't anyone else, I hate looking for groceries by myself, I hate sitting in this stupid, tiny, metal box with nothing to listen to but the rain and myself. I hate it all.
Drip, drip.
Groceries. Check. Water. Check. Bedding. Check. Shelter. Check. Something to repair my bag. Still necessary.
I should visit another store soon to see if I can find a nice sewing kit or, more likely, some thread and needle laying around an apartment. Most of the apartments were untouched. I'd be able to find a lot if I went to the higher floors. Those might collapse though. What a shame that'd be.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
I shouldn't be angry. It wasn't anyone's fault they were dead or that Errol died. But I am. I am so angry it makes my chest, my arms, my legs, my feet, my hands, my face, my throat- it makes them all so warm. Hot, even. That is good. Rain is cold. I am warm. Maybe anger is good.
Drip. Drip.
I am not angry at Errol or at anyone else who has died or left me. I am angry at me. I am angry I failed to protect them. I am angry I did not do more. I regret it all. But I can't change it anymore. I am angry at whoever invented time, whoever made it impossible for me to fix everything. It is easier to be angry than to be guilty. So my guilt is anger.
Drip.
The structure is beautiful in the new sun, coming up just above it's walls. The rain is fading. It becomes only a light mist and I see the hints of a rainbow. It is time to leave my little tin box. I have just a few more things to pick up before I can go to sleep. I did not sleep well last night because Errol is not here and Errol cannot put me to sleep anymore. But I will sleep tonight. I will sleep early tonight, even. As long as I find a thread and needle to fix my bag.
I left my box. I made sure to step in a puddle.
Errol is dead. But it is sunny today.
