The first part of a story by an author 'Seth'. Comments as usual to [email protected] please, thanks. 26.4.04. Espírito

He climbed the rotting wooden stairs, a hunched figure of indistinguishable age, picked out from the wall by the dim flickering of lamps lining the corridors above and below him, and on the stairs upon which he stood, placed at large enough intervals to produce areas of shadows in which one who hadn't grown up in these conditions would find it nigh impossible to see, not helped by the fact that many of these lamps had been extinguished by the wind howling past. The heavy rain beat rhythms from the old world on the corrugated iron used as a roof, a loud drumming. As he reached the top of the stairs, he walkedswiftly to his door, with a speed unsuspected at by a watcher due to his hunched figure, but he was eager to be away from the biting chill of the frosty wind and the glare of stains on the walls illuminated by half shadows which created imposing monsters. Fumbling for his key, he managed to force it into the rusted keyhole, which gratingly, and unwillingly turned, the door creaking open as he touched it. The spartan room which confronted him was small, he could cross it in a few large paces, within was a bed, a table and a chair, and two doors leading from the room. Behind the first door was an open fireplace over which it was possible to heat food, and above this an orifice opened through which smoke could curl up and enter tunnels which ran throughout the building, heating the rooms. The second door contained several shelves on which he stored his few meagre possessions. A bedpan lay under the bed in case it wasn't possible to reach the communal toilet situated a the floor below.

Shutting the door behind him, he attempted to begin a fire using some damp green logs, which were in reality not much larger than sticks, and a second hand match - matches were expensive due to lack of raw materials and so often re-used. Accomplishing this, he removed his wet clothes and laid them down by the fire to dry, taking care that water didn't drip on the flickering fire, and that the clothes were not within reach of stray sparks - these were his only set of clothes after all and he couldn't afford to buy any more. He opened the second door and discovered the only food he had stored was some rice, he'd had no coupons to acquire anything else from the stores on his last visit. He removed the packet and poured the rice into a slightly blackened and scratched wooden bowl, he would eat the rice cold tonight, it wouldn't do him any harm. He sat on the solitary chair - he never had any visitors, in fact visiting was frowned upon by the Government - and placed his bowl on the smll table, the chair creaking as it struggled to support his weight. Spooning the rice into his mouth, his hunger overcame his fatigue, atleast for the time. As he chewed he read the damp newspaper he had found lying in the street earlier,
        '...great victory...allied troops advancing on the Oriental Archipelago...attack on naval base in Western Archipelago...Government vow vengeance...'
It struck him that the Oriental Terrorists had managed to attack so near the heart of the Empire, but he forgot these thoughts as the paper was thrown onto the fire, and he watched instead the fire feeding hungrily, the edges of the paper curling, blackening, and the sudden warmth given off by the fire was a rare luxury and he digested the rice effortlessly, his mind sinking into routine. he lay on his bed, twisting slightly in an attempt to avoid the lumps in the coarse materials, and looked blankly at the celining, blackened from decades of smoke.
,br> He dreamed. That in itself was unusual, dreams were sent by terrorists, in an attempt to force surrender, the Government countered these dreams. Mostly, they were successful, occassionaly a suicide was reported, the story undoubtedly invariable,
        '...maddened through dreams, commited treasonous acts against the Government, in an occassional moment of sanity took his/her own life, for the good of The Empire.'

He awakes to the sound of loud sirens, quickly he moves into routine, pulling his old stained leather shoes onto his feet. His wife awakens at his side and together, gathering their two children - they were lucky enough to be allowed two children - they hurried from their appartment, rushing down the stairs, trying to stay upright. They move without thinking, as do the other residents, crowding around them, thinking was unnecessary, this was identical to many other times, their brains ordering their feet to retrace paths from past memories. At the foot of the stairs, they crowd out of the building, a swirling mass of people, they jostle into the shelter, the last shutting the door behind them. It was cold and damp, the residents huddled together provided some warmth, and two flickering lamps, one at either end of the shelter held small, hungry flames and the only source of light. Quieter, the sirens could be heard, punctuated with small explosions and light gunfire, and unerringly interrupted by larger explosions. The children are soon asleep, young and inncoent they have little idea of the destruction occurring. Their parents can't sleep - they know what is hapening, they know enough to be afraid, to fear...