I wake up with my scream stuck in my throat, my body is drenched in a cold sweat, and my heart threatens to burst from my chest. I can’t sleep, I can’t relax; I have an anxiety I can’t shake off. I have many dreams, most of them render me useless in the morning because I start off with stress. This one is very disturbing.

I was hiding behind a vase. I heard a woman struggling. I was afraid to see what was happening. All I could do is quietly wait till it was safe for me to move.

The altercation stopped, the sound of a waterfall was the only sound filling the room. I peeked my head from behind the vase, a limp body hung from the ceiling. I slowly crawled to it sobbing and even in the dim light of a candle from across the room I noticed details, such as a noseless face and rubbery skin. I screamed and cried begging for the woman to wake up, but she never will.

I really don’t know how I got her down, but I dragged her rotting corpse in a painstaking pace, down the path of the river that would lead me to a large body of water, the ocean.

I tugged her into the water, watching her body decompose into foam. My cries and moans were a song of mourning and I slowly sunk into the shallow black waters.

I had variations of that dream, but it is usually the same outcome; me sinking under the foam. It took awhile for my body to stop shaking and for my breaths to even. I press my face on my sweaty palm, gripped my frizzy hair and suck up fresh cold air. “It’s just a nightmare…” I think to myself.

I haven’t slept for many nights and it is getting to me. I am afraid to sleep and I try to stay awake but my record is seventy-seven days till I pass out. But if I only sleep once a week I will last less and less. I will die at the rate my sleeping schedule is going. I have lost so much weight because of the stress.

And the stress is not just the nightmares it is also how the women and children pickpocket your things once you fall asleep. I almost cut a woman’s hand off the other night when she so much as touched my suitcases. This apocalyptic scenario is so fucked up, the “survivors” will kill each other from the paranoia.

There are monsters outside, too. Francine and I are the only ones ballsy enough to go out and run errands for the shelter, and it really pisses me off I have to be worried from what are attacking us from the outside and what is harming us inside a so called refuge. It is not as bad as day one, but it is still pretty chaotic.

This was pointless, no matter how much thought I give to a situation it will only make it worse. I couldn’t leave the shelter because, 1) I am currently on guard, and 3) there is a curfew… wait…let me count it with my fingers… one… b— Whatever, I understand myself.

Whatever, kitchen. I serve myself a glass of water from the tap and stare at it, thinking of all the bacteria and shit it went through. I pour it down the drain and rather die from dehydration. I’d kill for some mint tea right now… Wait… do I even like tea? Apparently I do. Unless tea is slang for designer shoes, then I would also love a new pair of shoes.

I guess I can clean up this— pigsty. They say women are made for cooking, cleaning and taking care of the family. I find that very hard to believe considering I live in a shelter for women and they don’t do jack shit but complain all day on how Francine needs to do better at what she does. And that I am too pretty, but what else is new?

They treat Francine so badly it really broke my heart. Francine is there for me making sure I was comfortable in my own skin. I need to thank her with every act of kindness I can muster since I couldn’t say it. She was a grateful woman doing a thankless job.

One day, the women in the shelter were outraged that there were rats and roaches living among them. They told Manolo, the old man who built the shelter and father of Francine, and he told them it was under control. He told Francine those living conditions were not acceptable and that she should be more careful and clean. It was impossible for one person to keep track of thirty women let alone the pest they brought in.

Francine left the shelter, with all the hunters running loose, and came back with gallons of pesticides and scratches all over her body. She was excited to fumigate. She brought all of us gas masks since we couldn’t leave till the chemicals took effect but none of the women wanted to wear them either.

After Francine painstakingly fumigated, three things happened: The pests were going crazy and ran around in large numbers, the pests eventually died and some were hidden in between cracks and small spaces resulting them to rot and stink up the place, and the long exposure to the pesticide gave most of the refugees a skin rash and made them sick. Francine was quick to blame. I did more than pull my weight and help Francine with hers. “Don’t worry, you need to rest!” Francine didn’t want me to help her, but I insisted.

Even if I helped her, these women were too much for just two people.

I hear the door creak open slowly. “Hey, you can’t sleep?” It was dark but that squeaky voice was Francine. As light filled the room, I had to block my eyes from the intensity and slowly adjust to it. “Are you alright?” she asks. I nod and continued to do the mountain of dishes. I wonder why she was awake at this ungodly hour. I bet she can’t sleep again. Her under eye bags are so dark and her skin is starting to sag, even her voice is strained. “Oh, dear. You shouldn't be doing my chores.” Francine walks up to me and turns off the faucet. “Besides, it is far too late to be cleaning.” She smiled softly. I don't know what it take to break her and I really hope I never find out.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Against her wishes, I continued to clean the dishes. “I wish these women took your same initiative,” she chuckles. She takes a broom and sweeps the floor. If it weren't for the fact this is an apocalypse and we lived with thirty-one other people, this feels domestic and, kind of romantic? Uh, oh. I am actually crushing on my caretaker. I mean what’s not to love about her? Francine is not feminine, at all, for me a woman needs to look feminine so I can atleast grace them with my glance, but she is naturally pretty. Francine wears heavy work clothes, and she is the handy woman around the shelter. She reminds me a lot of Geraldine Doyle, a very strong looking woman. I think Francine is the only woman I know who hasn’t done a perm and hasn’t dyed it. She doesn’t even wear makeup, and that for me is admirable. I want to take that woman with me, to relive her of her troubles and go on a sappy romantic getaway. To fuck her brains out on the table behind me—

“You know, if you don’t feel well you can be honest with me. Okay?” she says sitting across from me on the table, serving tea for the both of us. I am on my last few plates so I hurried to sit with her. “Do you want to eat?” I shake my head firmly. I really can’t stomach anything as of late and I rather not force my stomach to eat even if I am losing my healthy shape. “Then have some of this tea. It’s one of my favorites!” she says with a bubbly laugh. God, she is so cute.

I take a sip of the brew and let the warmth and sugary mint rush down my— mint tea!? How the fuck did she knew!?

“I-is the tea too hot?? I-I’m sorry--” She stammers, embarrassed she thought she fucked up the tea. I shake my head and tried to explain with my messy body language that I liked it. Graceful like swan with epilepsy. I am so awkward…

“A-are you sure? I can make it again if you like,” she insists. What a genuine sweetheart. I decline her offer and take another sip. If only there was some way to tell her I woke up just for tea.

“I never seen someone so polite and understanding…” Francine comments and sips her tea. Her cheeks flush a rogue tone. She glances at me over her tea cup and breaks into a smile. My heart and hers are accelerating a million miles per second. We just awkwardly smile at each other--... Hold up. SHE'S CRUSHING OVER ME. AHHHHHHHHHH! HOW DO I EVEN GO ABOUT THIS!?

“Um…” she mumbles and giggles nervously as she tucks a lock of her unkept brown hair. “Thank you for being understanding and supportive…” Francine chuckles nervously. “I find it ironic you can’t speak, having a true impediment compared to the rest of the women and want to work alongside me--” she panics. “U-uh! I mean as in working around the shelter! W-with me…” Oh my god, this woman will be the death of me. “O-oh!” She suddenly bursts with a bright smile. “I cleaned off the blood stains from your designer coat!” I smile at her, it was my only expression of gratitude at the moment. “I kept it hidden in the office in the safe box.” God bless this woman…

“You know, you are a complete stranger to us, but to my father, you remind him of my brother. I don’t understand why, you are very different from my brother. I guess he thinks because you have black hair you are the same,” Francine vents. I don’t mind when she speaks. She does her job better when she doesn’t bottle it all up.

Manolo, her father, is a great man, but he has a preference for his son who died in the army during the first week of training. What sort of unlucky bastard dies that early…? Me, I would be that unlucky.

Watching Francine fill her brothers massive shoes is depressing. Francine didn’t go to university to help her father with the shelter and he didn’t praise her enough. The woman had enough to deal with and her father and all the women in the shelter don’t appreciate her sacrifices.

Francine cares more about everyone else more than her beautiful hair. This is unjust and pisses me off. I stand and walk over to her cautiously, making endless eye contact. I slowly reach a hand towards a wild lock of hair and tuck it back behind her ear. I was itching to touch her further, but I just stood behind her and ran my fingers through her scalp. “O-oh, okay.” Francine stares down at her lap as I undo her disaster of a braid. “I’m sorry…” Francine says as I gently untangle her hair. “I think you are my only friend here.” She chuckles breathlessly. “I know we met a few days ago, but..” she drifts off.

She is dying to tell me something, and she doesn’t know how. I think it’s because I am mute and I won’t repeat it. “Do you really think my brother is dead…?” Francine asks me. I wouldn't know what to tell her even if I wasn't mute. “I feel like he isn't dead. I know he is somewhere…” her voice strains as she spoke about him. She really misses her brother. I can relate… I am missing a lot of people in my life and I cannot for the life of me remember who they are. I really don’t know what hurts more, forgetting who you loved your entire life, or having the image of that loved one plastered in your mind and never knowing where they are and if they are okay. “Funny enough, my brother died on a night like this. Filled with angels and demons… Can you believe it?” she asks me. I honestly can’t but at the same time I am not surprised in the slightest.

I’ve seen some shit and I know that this event will happen more than once. Angels killing and eating people and then going back to heaven is hard to swallow. Francine and I can handle them. She is fucking impressive when she does it.

One day the shelter was breached with the hunters. Francine made a spear with a broom stick, a drill and a knife duct taped together. It was a strange weapon, but she handled it like a trained warrior. I helped her out during that siege, I was more tactile and distant using knives and other sharp objects as projectiles but we survived it. “Some Satanic ritual, I wonder where are the rejects during this, am I right?” Francine said sarcastically.

“You know, my father keeps saying I am trying to be like my brother. I never will be brave as him. He didn’t even let a heart disease hold him down… He told me he wanted to join the military, not because he wanted to fight for our country, because he wanted to escape our fathers expectations. So, he could live a better life I filled in his shoes…” she explains with a sad smile. “I don’t want you to stay here forever… Not like all these women that depend on others to survive.” She turns to me and holds my hands tightly. “I know you don’t want to be here forever, I know you take pride in what you do. Let me help you start your life,” Francine smiles brightly.

“You know, I talk to you so much and I never really got your name.”

“O-Od...dyssey,” I uttered— Holy shit I uttered! “Y-You spoke!” Francine is just as shocked as I am. “Y-You spoke!!” she shrieks excitedly and hugs me tightly. I am so mind blown I forgot to speak.

Well then.