29 Days Without Contact

I’ve found it’s best to keep moving. By myself, I’m an easy target—a coward’s ideal prey. My odds are much better if come across someone alone and desperate. I can handle that—I have in the past, many times. I’m scared of those that I follow, that I watch. Whether they are on to me yet or not are thoughts that keep sleep from coming.

I am just one person. I can’t take on the hundreds that guard Peter. I need to know as much as I can and then sneak in. I’m learning to become one of the shadows so that I’m noticed as such, or not at all.

I’m scared. It has to be soon.

I take a quick right into an alley. The large buildings on either side cast a blanket of shadows over the graffiti-covered brick and garbage-lined ground.

Life doesn’t thrive anymore.

We are dying out.

Glass shatters behind me. I stop.

“Are you one of them?” The familiar sweetness of his voice punches me in the stomach.

I turn around.

Nothing. Emptiness swells around my heart.

I keep hearing his voice. It’s in my head, I know this, but I still feel like it’s a sign that Peter is breathing. He has to still be breathing.

Tonight. I can’t wait any longer.
Shards of glass are at my feet.

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