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"I've almost found it, Marcoh, I can taste it!"

A layer of dust caked my arms as I dug through the rubble, my gloved hands buried under the pile of gravel. My fingers snaked through the rubbish until they landed on solid line. The ridges slid along my fingertips; it felt like a rebar.

"Just got to pull this here..."

My fingers twisted around the rebar and with a mighty heave, the metal pole inched out from under the refuse, pulling a block of concrete with it. Sweat tickled down my cheeks and my arms burned as the metal ground the leather gloves into my hands. Suddenly, the weight faded and the block slid free, slipping down the gravel pile, followed by the collapsing pile itself. I released the rebar and surfed along the rolling stones to the cracked streets below. The concrete block landed with a great thud, spilling open like paper machete ball.

Marcoh sat still on the asphalt, leaning against a twisted light pole, his perpetual grin watching me with those longing, beady eyes of his.

"I finally did it, Marcoh!" I nearly tripped when I reached the bottom of the pile. I excitedly skipped to the light post at the street corner, "It took all day but we're finally in!"

Marcoh kept smiling at me, always approving of me, his smile as warm as the sun shining on our shoulders.

I knelt beside him, "I know my father always kept a bottle in his office, now we can finally enter his textile shop!"

He didn't say anything. He just kept smiling. That was all he needed to do.

"Well, we don't have all day, got to get back home before dark!" I reached for my friend. He remained still as my fingers slipped under his fuzzy arms. Standing tall, I hoisted Marcoh on my shoulders, making sure to keep a grip on his little furry legs. "There, see! The door was behind that pile!"

I pointed to a door made of wood and glass under a sign that read "MARK'S FABRICS". Most of the building was obstructed by the remains of bigger building that have crumbled. The boulders crashed on what used to be the display windows. With a hop in my step, I made my way over the collapsed gravel and grabbed the door's handle. I was honestly expecting the handle to fall off or some other complication but to my vast appreciation, the door opened easily with a little force behind my push.

"Hey Marcoh, I just remembered that your mom is here. Let's go say hi!"

As I entered the shop, my friend fell backwards, his limp arms tapping my back.

"Huh? No, no, don't worry about the monsters. It's safe here."

I hopped and Marcoh swung back to his upright position. His head rested on the top my own and his arms dangled besides my cheeks. He seemed to be relieved.

The textile shop was a lifeless space that reminded me of life before 'The End'. I reached for my left breast pocket; my flashlight had probably been my most valuable asset ever since 'The End', I gave the switch a brief flip and my sight was given light. The carnage under the boulders that had crushed the display windows was evident, with broken glass and twisted mannequins lying about the front end of the shop, but the rest of the defunct business looked as clean as Dad had always kept it. Rows of clothes on display, a sign that would inform customers of the latest deals, and broken light fixtures hung from the ceiling. Behind the Cashier's Counter, a closed door led into where I knew my father's office was. The shop was as dead as the rest of the city.

It was a small business but, it was a business. Dad always worried about making end's meet with such a small place...

"Your mom's in Dad's office..." I informed my friend, whose unease I could feel rising in my own chest. Marcoh wasn't a paranoid person but the moments he would get scared were moments that felt appropriate, such as being in abandoned businesses. The monsters always hid in places like this. However, there is usually an obvious sign of their presence. I haven't seen anything worrying other than the dark.

"Don't be scared, Marcoh, there are no monsters. It’s safe here..."

Step by step, I made my way through the store. I have learned to always be ready for an attack but no attack had come by the time I reached the counter. It was made of glass, the counter held samples of the different types of fabric for sale in the shop.

“I wonder how much money is in the register." I leaned over the cashier's box; it was closed and most likely locked. “It's not like money is any good anymore, right Marcoh?"

Marcoh replied with his usual smile. 

Looking over my shoulder, I eyed the empty business. I couldn’t see far but I could feel the emptiness creeping into my head, like a cave-in. I licked my lips. Sighed, and turned away from the oppressive sight. I stepped around the counter and stood before the door leading into Dad’s office. At its sight, my heart froze and my veins filled with ice.

There were claw marks on the door.

“No…No, they’re not here, they’re not here…” I bit my lips and my hands wrung themselves into a knot. This wasn’t right, there are usually dead bodies or fecal matter lying about but the store was clean, and there was no other evidence here.

Maybe the monsters are getting smarter…

I shook my head, I was getting paranoid; I’m being a poor example for Marcoh. I shouldn’t be scared.

I took a breath, the smell of dust clouded my head and my eyes burned. I reached for the doorknob, it’s cold, brass texture sapped through my gloves and its chill sank into my bones. A drop of sweat built on my nose and dripped; it was so quiet that I swore I could hear the splash it made on the linoleum floor. I hesitated, and then I pushed. The wooden door squeaked as it opened, deafening me with a frightening haze.

I’d fallen for it before; I ran my fingers along the scar along my neck that reminded to be wary of these traps. My sight darted in the darkness beyond the door. I saw no corpses or wastes. The door swung free and I stood at the entrance of my father’s office.

“It’s clear…” My whisper echoed in the room, bouncing off the scattered desk at the far end. Shadows danced behind the furniture and dust drew figures and art in the illuminated cone of my flashlight. I felt a sense of welcoming; my father’s office always had that effect on me. I shut the door behind me, always a smart move; my pounding heart jumped at the click it made when the handle locked into place.

I wiped the drop of sweat from my nose, “Th-There she is, Marcoh…”

On the edge of the desk sat a lone sewing machine. A white chunk of plastic with metal needle attached to its base. A wire connected from its backside and slithered off the edge of the table, plugging into the beige wall. A ‘#12’ symbol was impacted on the forefront of the machine, Marcoh’s mother, sat in the dark office, gathering dust over the years after ‘The End’.

“Be nice now…” I lifted my friend from my shoulders and placed him beside the machine. I smiled as I watched him lean against it, his rounded hand pressed against the table. It was a lazy thing but that is how he always hugged. 

“Are you happy, Marcoh?” I leaned on the desk, my elbows pressed against the solid surface, “Family is a nice thing, I wish I could see my mother again, I’d hug her just like you do yours…”

Marcoh held his smile; he slumped further against the machine.

“I’m going to search for it now; you just enjoy your time with your mother.”

I twisted away from my friend’s family reunion and examined the cold room. Filing cabinets, some cupboards, and his desk remained still in the small room. My father’s office wasn’t particularly remarkable; he always felt it didn’t need to be. I noticed a portrait hanging on the wall. I angled my flashlight at it and felt a weight grown in my stomach when I recognized the person, or people, smiling within it.

It was Mom and Dad. “Mark and Cohnie”

“…This is a nice picture, right Marcoh?” I looked back at my friend, his eternal smile approving of my nostalgia. Then I nodded and thought no more of the picture. I missed them but mourning over them wasn’t going to get me anywhere. Instead, I appreciated my father’s consistent organization. It was fortunate, because that meant I knew exactly where to find what I was searching for.

I crouched beside the desk and sure enough, there it was. A lone cardboard box with no top, over its edge I could see my prize, gathering dust along with the rest of the place.

A bottle of the good stuff.

I reached for its glass neck and slipped it from the box. The paper brand had faded somewhat but I could still read the name, “Evan Williams” it read. “Cheap and effective” Dad would say. Perhaps it was because of him that I had come to enjoy it.

“I finally have it Marcoh…” I grinned triumphantly as I approached my friend, “Now I’ll need to find more…”

The sound of a crash burst in the room, my body jumped and I nearly dropped my bottle. A portion of the ceiling above the filing cabinet crumbled under a basketball-sized rock, the afternoon sun poured into the room with a warm light. I frantically searched the room at an electric pace, certain that I was under attack. I opened the clawed door; the store was still empty. Shutting it again, I returned to the empty office.

“P-Please stop crying, Marcoh, it was nothing. We’re okay.” I rubbed my thumb under his beady eye; I wiped away his tears but my vision remained blurred.

I picked him up and held him one hand and the bottle in another. I sat beside the desk, waiting for my shaking body to calm down. My chest hurt with each pounding heart beat but I tried to take relief in telling myself that I would be alright.

I had waited for awhile. Almost ten minutes. Stirring from my little recovery, I pushed against the corner of the wooden desk with my elbow to steady myself. I stared at the newly created hole in the ceiling. I could go to the rooftop. 

“L-Let’s go outside, Marcoh!”

I placed the bottle in my rucksack and returned Marcoh to my shoulders. The hole was above the filing cabinet and, conveniently enough, the rock acted perfectly as stepping stone. I swiped away the debris and hoisted myself atop the metal cabinet. It held as stood myself straight, remained stabilized at its base. I turned back to my father’s office, it felt emptier somehow. I frowned at the lone sewing machine, she seemed so alone.

“…Marcoh says that he loves you and he promises that he’ll come and visit every now and then.” I waved to the machine, “it was nice to see you again ‘#12’, Take care of yourself!”

‘#12’ just sat at the edge of the desk, her corners reaching out to us.

I turned away, grasped the corner of the concrete roof and pulled myself in the warm light. It was nice to be on the roof of father’s business again.

The roof of “MARK’S FABRICS” was a mess of rubble scattered throughout its grayed surface. It was funny to me how the front of a store always tried to be pretty enough to appeal to their consumers. Well, everything is ugly now, I suppose it really was all for naught. I kicked some stones aside as Marcoh and I approached the edge of the building.

The Ruined City lay before me. Crumbling buildings, cracked roads, bent light posts, and scrapped cars adorned the streets stretching across the urban landscape. The place was dead. Everyone was dead, except for me, and I appreciated the death of the noise that went with them. Sometimes I wondered why it was me who still lives in this time, I’m not special or important in the eyes of any other person. I wasn’t too bothered but in the back of my head, I wonder if I’ll find a way back home. 

Those strange pills brought me here; maybe, if I can somehow find more, they’ll take me back…

I sniffed and pulled the bottle from my rucksack. I twisted its plastic cap and rose the glass to my lips. I took a nice swill of the Good Stuff. The taste was foul and harsh but it made me feel warm inside, quelling the loneliness from the sight of the dead city. I let the bottle dangle from my fingers and I held Marcoh in my other, lifting him from my shoulders and letting him hang beside my legs. 

“Look, Marcoh, I can see our house from here!” With my bottle hand, I pointed a finger to the top of the sole surviving skyscraper of the city. A space free of concrete and glass appeared as a hole on one of the higher floors. Living in a high place had proven to be a smart move for me, the monster don’t seem to like heights. Also, it gave me a nice view of the world, it made me feel important.

I took another swill of The Good Stuff. The burning fluid welled in my gut my head began to spin. I let a drawn-out sigh escape my lungs and I stared at the ruins of a past life.

“…Do you think Dad blames me, Marcoh? For the end of world?”

My grip loosened on my friend and he dropped to the concrete. With a spastic lurch, he stood on his own and smiled up at me, tilting his head, “Why would you think that? That’s a pretty silly thought.”

I smirked, taking another swig. “Yeah, I now, it’s just… Maybe I could have stopped it.”

“You’re worrying too much, my friend, a single person couldn’t stop a war.” He pushed his little arms against my leg; a small creature trying to push an object far larger than him that can move on its own.

I chuckled gingerly, ”I get it, Marcoh,” I crouched and held him under his arms, “I just need to worry about surviving and finding more of the good stuff, right? Speaking of which, do you want some of this?”

He giggled and shook his little head, “Don’t be silly, you need to save that for yourself.”

I shrugged and took another drink, “Whatever you say.”

The sky was tinted orange and I felt a cold breeze cross over my back. Night will come soon…

“We better get going; I need to plan for tomorrow.”

Marcoh shivered and crawled up my arm, “Ugh, I hope we don’t see any more of those monsters, I still feel like I don’t have all my stuffing back from that one time…” He sat himself down on my shoulders, his arms wrapped around my head.

“Relax, as long as I’m quick, we don’t need to worry about them.” I confidently reminded him. “Now let’s get off this building…”

I screwed the cap back on the bottle and returned it to my rucksack. I then leaned over the edge of the textile shop; there was the pile of rubble at the front of the store. It wasn’t too far down…

In hindsight, jumping probably wasn’t such a good idea; that landing really hurt! Nothing serious happened, however, so I just shrugged it off. I brushed the dust off my clothes. I looked back at the building and waved a ‘goodbye’. I have to remember Marcoh’s mother….

“Did you enjoy meeting your mom?”

Marcoh shifted uneasily, “It was… something.” He droned in a hollow tone.

I didn’t ask him any further; family, while great, is also a scary thing. I suppose that’s why I don’t have much of a problem being the only person in this dead city.

With that, I made my way home, leaving “MARK’S TEXTILE SHOP” behind with its dust and rubble…