Survival is instinct, Empathy is not.
Raynier Erasmus
Final Draft
I was woken by the rhythmic irritation of my alarm followed by the driest desert of a throat I’ve ever
felt in my life. Almost out of habit, or instinct the empty swallow overtook my throat to try add some
sense of moisture to the crystalized walls that encompassed the un-thawn flesh inside my mouth. I
opened my eyes, albeit it one at a time to try and add some explanation to the cold hug I was
greeted with.
Looking out the gaping open window, which explains the throat, I felt rapid tingling of each nerve
waking up one by one as I realised snow was making its way into my bed room. Creeping like a
sludge of frost, it painted my floor with wind guiding each stroke. I turned and sat up feeling as the
cold slithered past each contour of my feet. I sled down my hallway into the untainted floor making
my way into the kitchen where my phone was left.
Turning the corner, my heart paused as I tried to comprehend a man startled by my presence
struggling to make his way out of my lock-picked back door which was being barricaded by a buildup of the white sludge. In the same perpetually frozen state, I scanned my open plan kitchenette and
lounge expecting to see it completely pillaged from a robbery. My brain fully anticipating to see a TV
ripped out of a wall with cables hanging loose like defeated lifeless snakes. Drawers ripped out and
emptied like exoskeleton carcasses with only hints as to what was originally there.
Without hesitation my heart finally decided to rev up like a stalled car whose engine was
momentarily in stasis, I reversed bolting back to my room. I could now hear the panting struggling of
the intruder as he no longer needed to mask his blatant felony. This noise only further pushed me to
my bedside drawer which was slowly being drowned by the snow. I ripped it open revealing my
firearm which my father gifted me as a graduation gift last year. Knowing it was loaded, I stumbled
back onto my feet catching myself from slipping on the grained ice. I made my way back to the
kitchenette hitting every possible obstacle on the way in my nervous and unreadiness for the
situation which was about to ensue.
He looked at me blankly, even still I could see the frost forming around his eye lashes due to the
cold. The frost began to thaw, with the saddened moisture seeping out slowly forming figures of
drops. Tears, for now, ice, in a second. Even though he wasn’t armed, he shot first. The bullet
pierced my chest rupturing each vessel it pierced and fractured my rib cage. The shrapnel hit my
head, breaking our blank staring competition. The appearance of the man, shivering and clothed in
what I can only explain as rags, forced me to take a second glance at the state of my apartment.
It was pristine, left untouched, with no evidence of anything torn open. The drawers were whole,
and the TV was as fastened to the wall as I mounted it. Miraculously it seemed cleaner than I left it
last night. The only misplaced item being the blanket basket missing a blanket which has been
thrown on the floor. I swung my head back at him ready to see a face desperate for compassion, but
instead just the gaping vacuum of where he once was.
In my shock he made his way out.
Withing my adrenaline-full pause he slipped away.
Even though he wasn’t armed, he shot first.
(Words: 604)