it to the kitten then I wouldn’t have to stomach it myself. My morning’s exploration had turned up plenty of supplies, so I could spare one can for a hungry kitten.
Even after all these years alone, I still had my human compassion. The day I lost that, is the day I wouldn’t be a human being any more.
I returned upstairs to find the can right where I had left it – hidden right at the back of the pantry behind my new-found bounty, where I wouldn't have to think about it unless things got desperate. I cracked open the pop-top lid, scooped a couple of spoonfuls of the foul-smelling pseudo-meat into a bowl liberated from Benny's cupboards, then carried it back downstairs.
In the doorway, I stopped and looked around.
The kitten was gone.
Chapter Seven
I found myself surprisingly disappointed by the kitten's disappearance. As much as I tried to ignore it, I longed for some kind of companionship, anything to help keep the loneliness at bay. I was tempted to call for the little cat, but I didn't want to risk giving away my position in case there were larger creatures around. With few other options, I set the bowl down on the ground beneath the bench and left it there. There was still much of the town left to explore, and perhaps while I was gone the kitten would return.
There were only two stores left on the main drag for me to investigate – a little antique store, and the simply named 'Function' building. I wasn't expecting much from either, but instinct said to check anyway. At least then I'd sleep easier at night, because I would know the buildings were safe. Lacking any particular inspiration, I flipped a mental coin and headed for the antique store.
As it turned out, 'antique' was a fancy name for 'second hand'. The store had survived the riots surprisingly well, mostly due to the fact it stocked very little of conventional value. The lock on the door had been forced, and the contents of a few shelves strewn across the floor, but mostly it was just dusty and quiet. I took in the entire room at a glance, soon realising that there was nothing of great value to me either, but I still felt drawn inside.
The shelves that were still standing contained things that fascinated my inner child. Along one high shelf was a row of tiny porcelain tea sets in miniature, with little teapots, sugar bowls, teacups and saucers all to perfect scale, and resplendent with beautiful, hand-painted patterns. Unlike just about everything else, porcelain survived the years without fading; the painted flowers were still just as bright and vibrant as the day they felt the artist’s brush.
I found that fascinating. Even after all this time, there were still some things made by human hands that stood the test of time. But it wasn’t the cheap, mass produced things from my generation; it was the old, beautifully hand-crafted items that survived the best.
Some morbid part of me hoped that if the human race survived long enough to flourish again, in a thousand years archaeologists would come to dig through these ruins and find these beautiful little things. Maybe that way, our distant descendants could look back on our civilization with some sense of pride, instead of with shame.
I picked up one tiny teapot and turned it over between my fingers, half-expecting it to crumble to powder at my touch. It didn't. It just sparkled prettily, its glossy paint as flawless as the day it was made. I wanted desperately to put it in my pocket and take it with me, but I knew it would not survive the rigors of my journey and it felt like a sin to destroy something so beautiful. With reverence, I set it back down with its little teacups and moved on.
There were a great many things in this store that served no real purpose, or whose function I could simply not name. They were things that had once been so important to society, but their purpose was forgotten long before I was born. Now that the
Even after all these years alone, I still had my human compassion. The day I lost that, is the day I wouldn’t be a human being any more.
I returned upstairs to find the can right where I had left it – hidden right at the back of the pantry behind my new-found bounty, where I wouldn't have to think about it unless things got desperate. I cracked open the pop-top lid, scooped a couple of spoonfuls of the foul-smelling pseudo-meat into a bowl liberated from Benny's cupboards, then carried it back downstairs.
In the doorway, I stopped and looked around.
The kitten was gone.
Chapter Seven
I found myself surprisingly disappointed by the kitten's disappearance. As much as I tried to ignore it, I longed for some kind of companionship, anything to help keep the loneliness at bay. I was tempted to call for the little cat, but I didn't want to risk giving away my position in case there were larger creatures around. With few other options, I set the bowl down on the ground beneath the bench and left it there. There was still much of the town left to explore, and perhaps while I was gone the kitten would return.
There were only two stores left on the main drag for me to investigate – a little antique store, and the simply named 'Function' building. I wasn't expecting much from either, but instinct said to check anyway. At least then I'd sleep easier at night, because I would know the buildings were safe. Lacking any particular inspiration, I flipped a mental coin and headed for the antique store.
As it turned out, 'antique' was a fancy name for 'second hand'. The store had survived the riots surprisingly well, mostly due to the fact it stocked very little of conventional value. The lock on the door had been forced, and the contents of a few shelves strewn across the floor, but mostly it was just dusty and quiet. I took in the entire room at a glance, soon realising that there was nothing of great value to me either, but I still felt drawn inside.
The shelves that were still standing contained things that fascinated my inner child. Along one high shelf was a row of tiny porcelain tea sets in miniature, with little teapots, sugar bowls, teacups and saucers all to perfect scale, and resplendent with beautiful, hand-painted patterns. Unlike just about everything else, porcelain survived the years without fading; the painted flowers were still just as bright and vibrant as the day they felt the artist’s brush.
I found that fascinating. Even after all this time, there were still some things made by human hands that stood the test of time. But it wasn’t the cheap, mass produced things from my generation; it was the old, beautifully hand-crafted items that survived the best.
Some morbid part of me hoped that if the human race survived long enough to flourish again, in a thousand years archaeologists would come to dig through these ruins and find these beautiful little things. Maybe that way, our distant descendants could look back on our civilization with some sense of pride, instead of with shame.
I picked up one tiny teapot and turned it over between my fingers, half-expecting it to crumble to powder at my touch. It didn't. It just sparkled prettily, its glossy paint as flawless as the day it was made. I wanted desperately to put it in my pocket and take it with me, but I knew it would not survive the rigors of my journey and it felt like a sin to destroy something so beautiful. With reverence, I set it back down with its little teacups and moved on.
There were a great many things in this store that served no real purpose, or whose function I could simply not name. They were things that had once been so important to society, but their purpose was forgotten long before I was born. Now that the
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