7. Do What You Can, With What You Have, Where You Are
Thursday, November 22nd-4:31 p.m.
1,031 words. Approximate reading time: 5 minutes, 9 seconds.
Cross-posted to gunwithoutmusic.dreamwidth.org/10534.html
Katie cursed as the match burned her fingers, dropping it into the fireplace and waving her hand around in a futile effort to stop the pain. “You’d think I’d know how to do this right by now,” she muttered to herself. She rubbed her cold hands together to warm them as much as she could and reached for the box of matches on the mantle, then slid it open. “Only five matches left. Shit, okay. Get it together, Katie.” She pulled another match from the box.
It took a few strikes, but the match finally caught flame, and Katie quickly tossed it onto the pile of papers that she had collected from around the house and twigs that she had collected under cover of night from her backyard. As soon as the match landed on the pile, the papers caught, and the flames started moving to overtake the twigs. Katie watched the fire, waiting for the right moment to add more wood. She watched an old photograph start to curl on the corner as the fire took it over, burning away the likeness of herself and her best friend, embracing each other in front of a roller coaster. “I can’t believe that was only five years ago,” she said quietly.
She had a pile of larger branches that she kept next to the fireplace, branches which she had also collected under cover of night from her backyard. She eyed the pile, thankful for the fact that she lived in a somewhat wooded area, and wondered if she had enough branches to last through the night, or if she’d need to rustle herself awake at 2:00 a.m. again to go foraging.
She sighed and tossed a few bigger branches on the fire, letting them catch before adding a few more. Soon, there was a small fire going in the fireplace, and Katie sat beside it, letting the heat warm her body through. She watched the fire burn through the rest of the kindling-more old photographs, pages from old magazines, some newspapers, whatever she could find lying around the house-and ignored the rumbling of her stomach. She had already eaten today, and she was running low on food. She couldn’t afford three square meals right now, so she just sucked it up and tried to deal with it.
It had only been seven days since Katie’s access was cut off. She hadn’t been prepared for it at all, though she sort of suspected now that no one was ever really prepared for it. No one really thought that they’d actually go through with it. But here she was, a dirty “dissident”, trapped in her home in the cold November weather with maybe a few more days worth of food, a handful of old books, a few tree branches, and four matches.
When it first happened, she was in shock. The internet had never gone down before, at least without some notice, and it was never down for more than a few minutes for maintenance. When it would come back up, everyone would jump back into their chat rooms and the next few hours would be taken up by people complaining about the internet access being down for five minutes, and how the maintenance schedule should be changed to be less often since there really shouldn’t be any reason for five full minutes of maintenance on the lines every two months.
This time, Katie waited five minutes, but the internet didn’t come back. She tried to call the customer support line, but couldn’t look up the number without the internet. It didn’t matter anyway, since her phone also appeared to be not working, like her signal was blocked. She wanted to check with her neighbors, but she had never really met them and didn’t know them, never mind the fact that going outdoors was effectively a death sentence.
So she waited, but the internet never came back. Her phone never started working again. After a day, her electricity was shut off and she started trying to learn how to build a fire in the fireplace that she never used. She risked going outside, into her back yard, in the dead of night to gather her twigs and branches and went through what she now realized were far too many matches trying to get a fire going.
Now, she was somewhat better at making fire, but she didn’t know how long she’d be able to make it last. She had to find some way to keep it going, or she might actually die from the cold. ‘What would be a better way to go,’ she wondered, grabbing a poker from beside the fireplace and poking at the branches as though she was doing something helpful, ‘Hypothermia or starvation?’
Katie idly poked at the small fire, disturbing it more than she should. “It’s not fair,” she said to no one. “I didn’t even do anything! I was only even there to try and talk some sense into them!” She had guessed that the problem was that one chat room. All those freaks that thought the Disease was overblown, that the quarantines were unnecessary. All those idiots deserved what had happened to Katie, and Katie took some solace in the thought that maybe they got what was coming to them, even if she had gotten caught in the crossfire.
Her stomach rumbled again, so she stood up and walked into the kitchen. She didn’t bother with the fridge, as all of the food in there would just make her sick. Opening the pantry, she surveyed the few items she still had. A couple of cans of vegetables, half of a stale loaf of bread, a few boxes of breakfast cereal. Something in the very back of the pantry caught her eye, something that she hadn’t noticed before.
“Score!” she shouted as she reached into the back of the pantry and pulled out a box of snack cakes. “I forgot I even had these.” She checked the date on the box. Still good. She reached into the box and pulled out one cake, unwrapped it, and ate it slowly, savoring every bite.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” she murmured to herself, as the flames in her fireplace receded into embers without her noticing.
1,031 words. Approximate reading time: 5 minutes, 9 seconds.
Cross-posted to gunwithoutmusic.dreamwidth.org/10534.html
Katie cursed as the match burned her fingers, dropping it into the fireplace and waving her hand around in a futile effort to stop the pain. “You’d think I’d know how to do this right by now,” she muttered to herself. She rubbed her cold hands together to warm them as much as she could and reached for the box of matches on the mantle, then slid it open. “Only five matches left. Shit, okay. Get it together, Katie.” She pulled another match from the box.
It took a few strikes, but the match finally caught flame, and Katie quickly tossed it onto the pile of papers that she had collected from around the house and twigs that she had collected under cover of night from her backyard. As soon as the match landed on the pile, the papers caught, and the flames started moving to overtake the twigs. Katie watched the fire, waiting for the right moment to add more wood. She watched an old photograph start to curl on the corner as the fire took it over, burning away the likeness of herself and her best friend, embracing each other in front of a roller coaster. “I can’t believe that was only five years ago,” she said quietly.
She had a pile of larger branches that she kept next to the fireplace, branches which she had also collected under cover of night from her backyard. She eyed the pile, thankful for the fact that she lived in a somewhat wooded area, and wondered if she had enough branches to last through the night, or if she’d need to rustle herself awake at 2:00 a.m. again to go foraging.
She sighed and tossed a few bigger branches on the fire, letting them catch before adding a few more. Soon, there was a small fire going in the fireplace, and Katie sat beside it, letting the heat warm her body through. She watched the fire burn through the rest of the kindling-more old photographs, pages from old magazines, some newspapers, whatever she could find lying around the house-and ignored the rumbling of her stomach. She had already eaten today, and she was running low on food. She couldn’t afford three square meals right now, so she just sucked it up and tried to deal with it.
It had only been seven days since Katie’s access was cut off. She hadn’t been prepared for it at all, though she sort of suspected now that no one was ever really prepared for it. No one really thought that they’d actually go through with it. But here she was, a dirty “dissident”, trapped in her home in the cold November weather with maybe a few more days worth of food, a handful of old books, a few tree branches, and four matches.
When it first happened, she was in shock. The internet had never gone down before, at least without some notice, and it was never down for more than a few minutes for maintenance. When it would come back up, everyone would jump back into their chat rooms and the next few hours would be taken up by people complaining about the internet access being down for five minutes, and how the maintenance schedule should be changed to be less often since there really shouldn’t be any reason for five full minutes of maintenance on the lines every two months.
This time, Katie waited five minutes, but the internet didn’t come back. She tried to call the customer support line, but couldn’t look up the number without the internet. It didn’t matter anyway, since her phone also appeared to be not working, like her signal was blocked. She wanted to check with her neighbors, but she had never really met them and didn’t know them, never mind the fact that going outdoors was effectively a death sentence.
So she waited, but the internet never came back. Her phone never started working again. After a day, her electricity was shut off and she started trying to learn how to build a fire in the fireplace that she never used. She risked going outside, into her back yard, in the dead of night to gather her twigs and branches and went through what she now realized were far too many matches trying to get a fire going.
Now, she was somewhat better at making fire, but she didn’t know how long she’d be able to make it last. She had to find some way to keep it going, or she might actually die from the cold. ‘What would be a better way to go,’ she wondered, grabbing a poker from beside the fireplace and poking at the branches as though she was doing something helpful, ‘Hypothermia or starvation?’
Katie idly poked at the small fire, disturbing it more than she should. “It’s not fair,” she said to no one. “I didn’t even do anything! I was only even there to try and talk some sense into them!” She had guessed that the problem was that one chat room. All those freaks that thought the Disease was overblown, that the quarantines were unnecessary. All those idiots deserved what had happened to Katie, and Katie took some solace in the thought that maybe they got what was coming to them, even if she had gotten caught in the crossfire.
Her stomach rumbled again, so she stood up and walked into the kitchen. She didn’t bother with the fridge, as all of the food in there would just make her sick. Opening the pantry, she surveyed the few items she still had. A couple of cans of vegetables, half of a stale loaf of bread, a few boxes of breakfast cereal. Something in the very back of the pantry caught her eye, something that she hadn’t noticed before.
“Score!” she shouted as she reached into the back of the pantry and pulled out a box of snack cakes. “I forgot I even had these.” She checked the date on the box. Still good. She reached into the box and pulled out one cake, unwrapped it, and ate it slowly, savoring every bite.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” she murmured to herself, as the flames in her fireplace receded into embers without her noticing.