It's been a week and your nerves are finally starting to settle.

No one seemed to notice or care that a group of folks showed up to squat in some abandoned house,

or they were more afraid of you than you were of them.

The wind off of the ocean was bitter cold, and it never ceased.

The cool breeze of a summer day at the beach didn't go away in the winter.

The house was insulated, fairly, but it wasn't nearly enough.

The wind broke through the cracks of the old windows and the house heaved with the gusts,

as though it were also exhausted by the battle with the crisp air.

Fortunately, there was a wood stove in the house.

It looked like it hadn't been used literally in decades, and it seemed too small to actually

heat the house, but it was better than nothing.

Scavenging for wood without being seen was hard, and didn't last for long.

Within a few days, you'd seen folks in the neighborhood and they'd seen you.

No one was ready to confront this reality on either side, so you just kept doing what you

could not to be noticed, despite the fact it was practically pointless.

You knew it wouldn't last forever, but you did what you had to for the time being.

Then one morning, there was a knock at the door.

Everyone froze, even the children.

It was the moment of truth.

You were the only adult in the room, so despite your best efforts, it was your decision

to make.

Murderers don't knock, you think to yourself, so there wouldn't be a gunfight, at least.

...