Day 450

The Dutch Quarter was as old as the name suggested.

Tiny houses crammed into spaces that didn't quite seem to fit any map.

Each and every one of the small abodes was a different colour but all were washed out.

The paint peeled around the corners and flaked by the doors like dead skin.

Nobody I knew of had ever seen anyone come in or out, just vague curtain movements.

Even then few people have seen those, more focused on how small and wide the doors are.

3.5 feet by 5 feet, like they put them on sideways though most claimed it was a local quirk.

Just like the inky black sludge that overflowed from the road grates.

Local quirk was the excuse for most of the strange things around the Dutch Quarter.

It wasn't limited to the doors or drains, it was the wildlife too.

The birds there didn't sing right, it's hard to explain but they sort of drone.

It's like a metallic buzz filling your head and making static run through your eyes.

Nobody acknowledges that though, too busy fawning over the quaint buildings.

Even the plants are strange around there, even the stray cats and insects.

Nothing is right there and I couldn't figure out why.

Maybe if I had gotten a glimpse at the people who lived in those house, if they were even people.

Rumours said the houses were a front for radiation-based experiments left over from the War.

They never said which "War", only that this remained and continued to poison the land.

I suppose in a sense they were right.

The houses were poison and I got too close.

Now I can barely move, most days I spend slouched by the window like everyone else.

There's about thirty of us in here, all trying to get attention from the outsiders.

We're hoping they can help us... they don't seem to hear or see us though.

You quickly begin to forget who's dead and who isn't in here.