The children wake up as they always do - sprinting through the house, down the stairs to the shop front to try and catch a glimpse of the ever elusive sun that my husband told them about after one too many drinks. Ever since that fool told them, our eldest has started remembering what it was like before all of this occurred and the world was taken into the mouth of something impossible.
I don't know how much more of this I can take. The endless night sky sometimes swirls with stars and we tell our children they are smiling down at us because they love us but their mouths are full of jagged teeth and bones. Some day our bones will join all the others up therein the false sky and our children will have to carry on like we have, raising their own in this wretched stomach.
Ours is the only light we've ever seen aside from the cars that pull up out front to refuel at the pumps that never seem to run dry, just as our pantry never seems to grow empty. We try not to question where any of it comes from - especially the meat... especially when it has a tattoo that resonates with familiarity and ever dish we make from it tastes like the memory of a dear friend.
We don't know why we're being spared from so much but, again, we do not question. We try to help where we can though, putting up signs in the windows offering travelers food and shelter for a while but none of them come close. I'm starting to think we've been changed somehow, made anew to better fit this new life.
I'm starting to forget what the surrounding land ever looked like under the sun.
Did it ever matter?
Am I even real any more?
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