JADED SURVIVOR ⁞ Robin Knox

The oppressive heat of the summer day seeped into every corner of the dingy apartment, clinging to the walls like a sweltering blanket. Young Robin sat huddled against the mini fridge, his back pressed against the humming appliance as he sought whatever meager relief it could offer. His shirt clung to his skin, damp with sweat, and his hair hung limp and matted. Bruises, in various stages of healing, dotted his arms and legs—physical reminders of his father's drunken rages.

In the kitchen, the freezer door hung open, its contents long since melted away. Robin had taken to scraping the last remnants of ice from the bottom, licking and chewing the tiny fragments in a desperate bid to cool his dry throat. But even that small comfort had been cruelly snatched away when the freezer finally gave up the ghost, leaving him to suffer in the stifling heat.

The apartment building around him was a reminder of his own isolation. Neighbors avoided him in the hallways, their eyes averted and conversations hushed as he passed. Whispers followed in his departure, either filled with disdain and pity. His father's antics had made them all pariahs, and Robin bore the brunt of their resentment.

He remembered the landlord's visits, the man's face red with anger as he demanded payment for the overdue rent. Henry would always appear, reeking of cheap whiskey and cockiness, ready with an array of excuses. "The boy needs new shoes," he'd slur, pointing a finger at Robin. "You can't expect me to pay rent and buy him shoes too." The landlord would leave, his face one of barely contained fury, and Robin would shrink back, knowing that his father's words had once again painted a target on his back.

---

Years later, Robin stood in his apartment, the memories of that sweltering summer still fresh in his mind. The windows were boarded up, reinforced against the dangers that now lurked outside. A radio crackled on the kitchen counter, the voice of a newscaster cutting through the static.

"...urge all citizens to remain indoors," the voice said, tinged with an undertone of panic. "The government is working tirelessly to contain the outbreak and ensure the safety of all..."

Robin's lips curled into a bitter smile as he listened to the hollow words of reassurance. The government was just as useless now as it had been before the world fell apart. He turned back to the stove, where a pan of rice and vegetables bubbled away, the aroma of corned beef wafting through the air.

It wasn't the first time Robin had had to scavenge and ration his meals. Even before the apocalypse, food had been scarce for him, and he'd learned to make do with what little he had. Now, with the world in chaos, those skills had become a matter of survival.

He chopped the corned beef into small pieces, dividing it carefully between two bowls. A smaller portion went into Misty's bowl, the calico cat meowing impatiently as she sensed the meal from her perch on the couch. Robin smiled, a rare moment of genuine warmth slipping through the hardened exterior he'd built up over the years.

With the food prepared, Robin carried one of the bowls to the door of the second bedroom, setting it down carefully. He knocked twice, then called out in a quiet voice, "Hey, You awake? Dinner's ready, kid."

He waited a moment, listening for the sound of movement from within. When none came, he sighed and turned away, walking back to the kitchen.

Robin sat down at the small kitchen table, his own meal untouched before him. He stared out the window, his eyes fixed on the boarded-up glass that separated him from the dangers of the outside world. In the distance, he could hear the moans of the infected, their eerie cries carried on the wind.