I sit by the window of our house-if you could call it a house. It’s more of a hut, really- looking out at the misty, cloudy landscape. I hate it here. It’s unbearably hot and muggy all day, before it drops to the cold, damp chill of night. At night it’s pitch black outside, but it’s almost preferable to the day, when all you can see are smog, and mist, and pollution.
“Wasteland,” I murmur to myself. “That’s all it is here. One big wasteland.”
I hug my arms to myself, feeling the stickiness of the humidity on my skin. It’s my fault I’m here, my entire fault. Nothing I can ever do will change it. And I’m trapped here with the one person who hates me the most in the world. The one person who should have loved me.
The one person who had once loved me.