Rust & Ash

The smell of ash greeted him as it did every morning. Dreams of inferno and death fading with the rising sun, how long had it been he wondered. Two years, or was it three? The bed was empty, something he was still getting used to. The chill at night still spoke of the absence and only tears seemed to drive it away. The floorboards creaked and groaned in rehearsed protest as the rotting boards took his weight. The shower was cold but his skin had become accustomed to such sensations, he didn't think he felt anything anymore. Canned beans greeted him with their casual grim displeasure and lack of taste. The day had only just begun and he wished it was over already. The boarded up windows let in slithers of dim light and he knew he was wasting time. With a heavy sigh and a shake of his head he picked up the mud laced shovel next to the door. Rusty hinges screamed as the door opened. Standing in the doorway he looked to the horizon and all too soon tears welled up once more.