Forsaken: The Introduction

         The wind blew hard against his head and his rugged brown hair began to fly upon the unseen force. Weeds had begun to retake the city from its otherwise absent tenants. Those who had remained behind had now all but vanished. The sunlight beamed through the tree canopy of the alleyway. Dead leaves rustled under his worn brown leather boots. The wind continued to against the world around him. The cracked payment, beneath his feet, told a story of a world that was now only a shadow of its former self. He stopped at the end of the alleyway. He turned his head slowly to the right and then slowly to the left. He examined everything his eyes touched upon. Is this it, he began thinking, I thought I heard something moving down here. Oh well, it must have been my mind playing with me.

         He reached into his pocket, his hand moved around for a few seconds, and then produced a box of matches. He knelt to the broken pavement below,  removed his rucksack from his back, and removed a single taper candle from worn bag. Sweat began to roll down his forehead. His stomach was becoming restless. He was nervous about the task at hand. His vision began to narrow, sweat came rolling down his brow, and he felt the world was moving slower around him. He stood up and replaced the rucksack upon his back. Just stay calm, you'll be okay. I'm sure they're dead, if there are any of them left here anyway.

         He could almost hear himself laugh, but he knew that this was not the time or the place to let out a hardy laugh. He began to approach the building directly in front of him. Here lay before him St Basil's Medical Outreach Clinic. Some of the windows, in the front, were still boarded up from the inside and others had been breached. He studied the windows for a moment, perhaps longer than he should have, and he could only think how somber this place must have been towards the end. The windows had been smashed in at some places and their glass was strewn about. Glass crunched beneath his boots as he began to step close to the slightly ajar entryway door.

         He paused before he passed into the building. Maybe there is another, safer, way to get what I need. For a moment, just a moment, it looked like he was going to dash off into the other direction and as far away as possible from the clinic. Instead of bolting away, he pulled a hatchet from a large side pocket of his worn and dingy green cargo pants. His right hand griped the hatchet firmly, and it was if the hatchet had now become part of his body. His breathing began to slow and he began to concentrate on the task at hand. He did his best to push his fears, nervousness, and worries into the pit of his stomach. He crossed the threshold into the building, lit the candle, and realized his worst fears would soon come true...