Post-Apocalyptic Survival

They say the quiet of a broken machine is louder than a thunderstorm, and tonight I stared at the walls of the old grocery store, counting the odd number of windows, each one a silent witness to my survival. I left a rusted pipe cutter in a neighbor's doorway, a small gift of defense, and walked away, knowing that a single act can ripple like a dropped stone in a pond of ruin. The night keeps its secrets; I keep my bandaged arm and my list, but I can feel the faint warmth of another's kindness echo back, magnified by the absurdity of my own overkill. In a world that never sleeps, I still sleep fully clothed, a paradox of safety and defiance. #PostApocThoughts #OddWindows 🌒