LIGHTS OFF

I stand on the flat roof of the empty tenement and sniff, the bleak November air is rain heavy.  I can squander the water.  The light is dying, I must hurry.  I carry the collection of large saucepans, tupperware tubs and plastic containers downstairs in several journeys.  Then I light a fire in my flat for warmth, I am freezing under layers of clothes, but fire fuel is hard to find and I’m not particularly good at igniting them from scratch.  I boil the potatoes I stole from the nearest Society commune.

I’ve survived here for eleven months since Lights Off day.  The people in the Societies say it was an electromagnetic pulse that fried everything, all the circuits, all the little chips.  Well whatever, there’s no more electricity which means no gas, no digital or analogue systems, nothing.  It’s dangerous for me to stay alone, but I don’t want to go and live in a Society - it’s funny how things revert once technology is lost, all remnants of civilisation slip away.  Men are the physically stronger so they rule and we’re a commodity.  Even though so many have died in childbirth, the urge to keep breeding continues.

I eat, the room is warm, I strip and wash myself with freezing water, the fire is slowly dying; I’ve no fuel to light another one, so I dress quickly.  I sing as I return the water containers to the roof - a popular tune from before, when there was music, office jobs, Friday nights out with the girls ...

Later I hear noise downstairs.  Someone is in my building.  I manage to get up before the door is kicked in.  From the last ember light I make out the silhouette of a man; “You have food?”

“I have nothing,” I answer.
He comes in anyway, closing and barricading the door with my furniture.  It’s completely dark now, I can hear him breathing.  “I heard you singing before,” he said, “I used to like that song.”  His hands find me in the dark, as I try to hide against the wall.  He presses his body against me, “I’ve been lonely; will you help with that?”
I feel his lips on mine and take in the scent of him, his tongue slides into my mouth.  I don’t protest, he asked for consent (I think), that’s unusual, he might be all right.  He’s tall and his body is lean, bones against my bones.  I run my hands through his thick hair and hear him moan softly as he senses my compliance.  The desire grips me then, desperation for some fierce taste of joy in these dark nights of nothing.  I lead him through the blackness to my bed, laughing a little when we stumble over stuff.  “I’ve been alone too,” I say as we lay down, him over me.  I buck my hips against his, feeling his desire for ... well, a woman, he hasn’t seen me nor I, him.

Afterwards we lay together, his arms are round me and I can hear the rain against the window, upstairs the supply of water will be replenished.  We'll drink tomorrow then and perhaps find fuel and food together.  I hope he’ll stay.  I await dawn and the weak light of the winter sun which will show me the face of my new lover.