Throwback Thursday: ‘For the Love of Grey’ by Anat Rabkin

She woke up too early. She always did. The painfully loud barks of a dog down the street started at the same time every morning… As soon as she was awake, the barking seemed less loud, as though this place was playing tricks on her. 

This place.

The line was so long. It had taken days to get in. The government passing by with supplies.  There was no point in keeping supplies hoarded at this point.

Not at the end of the world.

She got up and stretched. Her bones ached. They always ached here. 

Her room was barely larger than a van. A bed, a dresser, a writing desk. A grey cube to live out eternity in. She dressed in drab clothing that didn’t really fit and certainly didn’t flatter. 

The bathroom at the end of the hall had a line. Of course it did. Instead she returned to her room, brushed her teeth with some water from her water bottle, and spat into a basin she had found the other day. 

She could use the lavatory at work.

The way to work was dreary, as  always. The grey sky only just brighter than the grey, square buildings. The streets were packed with tired people meandering their way to their employments. Were they also woken up by that same dog? The one that she couldn’t find, since pets weren’t allowed? 

Or was that personal hell reserved for her? 

She had spent a long time thinking about the way this place worked. 

She did so today as well, while she waited for the bleary-eyed barista to give her a cup of unsatisfying, lukewarm coffee.