By Gianna Liantonio

I run through the deserted streets with just my backpack that’s basically being held together by a thread. My yellow sweatshirt with a weared out wonder woman symbol on my chest and my black converse that have seen better days. I run and run, ignoring the stitch in my side. I see as one by one, the street lights start going out. Not good. Not good. I start running faster, the soles of my feet burning by the speed and force. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the lights going out, the world getting darker each time. Come on, I’m almost there. I feel tears brimming my eyes and my entire body burning, but I don’t take a breath until I am behind the familiar red door. I run in and slam the door shut, surprised it didn’t break by the force of my push. I lock the door and slump down to the floor, out of breath and feeling my lungs rejoice in the air I am finally giving them. I hear a distant scream and shut my eyes, grateful once again that I made it in. For everyone else who may be out there, not so much. I hear rattling in the kitchen and get up, despite my body’s protest. I walk slowly over to the kitchen, wincing at my sore feet. I walk through the archway and see my sister Morgan, putting a small pot on the stove. I lean against the wall with my arms crossed and an amused smile on my face. This makes it worth it.

All the running and escaping from death. Seeing my sister make mac and cheese. She feels my presence, having a sixth sense somehow and looks up smiling. “Amy!” she exclaims, forgetting about the water boiling as she runs over and almost tackles me to the ground. I smile, hugging her back, resting my face in her hair that smells like watermelons. Its kids shampoo, which is the only thing I could find. I know she doesn’t mind. I kiss the crown of her head and lift up, cradling her face in my hands as I look into her hazel eyes, identical to mine. “You know I always make it home to you,” I say and hope I sound confident, because inside not so much. The overwhelming guilt I’d feel if I somehow didn’t make it home and the thought of Morgan being here alone, eats me up inside. She smiles and nods, the one identical to our mothers. I boop her nose which makes her laugh and then she turns around, walking back to the pot remembering the mac and cheese. She pours the box in once she sees it is boiling and then stirs it. It’s almost hypnotic watching her make a simple American classic. She rests the wooden spoon against the pan and then leans against the counter, cracking her knuckles. A nervous tick she has. “So, get anything good today?” she asks, and I nod, taking my backpack off and setting it on the table. I unzip it and just dump out all the contents. She sifts through it, grabbing some Doritos I managed to get and gummy bears.

“You’re a lifesaver,” she says, and I wonder if she is talking to the chips and candy or me. We go through it more, sorting through some essentials like shampoo, conditioner, soap, some new clothes that are a bit bigger so they’re comfy and easy to
run in. I got some groceries, even though there’s practically nothing at this point. You’re lucky if you find a box of mac and cheese these days, but I always manage to get three and she sees them, her eyes lighting up. “Yes! You got more!” she exclaims and I giggle. “Not sick of it by now?” I joke and she shakes her head smiling, going back over to the pot and checking it. “I could never get sick of it.” She turns the stove off and picks up the pan, walking over to the sink and pouring it into the colander. She then puts it back in the pot and grabs the cheese packet, squeezing it out. I watch her stir it in, making sure each one has enough cheese. “Can you grab the bowls?” she asks, still stirring everything around. I nod even though she can’t see me and go to the cabinet, grabbing two bowls. I set them on the table and then grab two glasses. I pour apple juice into each cup and sit down as she pours the macaroni into both bowls. She sits down and we start to eat. “So good,” she says, her mouth full and I smile, eating mine a bit slower. I like these little moments. The reprieves where we can just be Amelia and Morgan.
Sisters–nothing more. We can ignore what’s going on outside. Morgan starts to eat slower, knowing we can’t finish our food fast. We get enough to get by, but we still make note of what we need and what we need to save.

After we finish, we wash the dishes together. Albeit, two bowls, two spoons and two glasses aren’t a lot to do, we find it relaxing. She washes and I dry and put away. It’s a good system. It’s nice to have routine in an unpredictable world.
We tidy up a bit and then go to the couch, each with a book in hand. Mine is one I have read hundreds of times, but Morgan tries to read a new one every day. I managed to grab some books with some fairytales as a way to escape. We read in comfortable silence until an extremely loud alarm startles us out of our relaxed trance. “What’s happening?” Morgan asks with a shaky voice, marking her page subconsciously. I put my book down and stood up, prepared to grab a bat I found one day while scavenging. “Morgan, if I tell you to run and hide, even if it’s without me,” I pause and then turn to her. “Would you, do it?” She hesitates, her eyes brimming with tears. “We’re all we have left now Amy, what if you don’t come back? What if we get separated and can’t find each other?” I know the risks and I definitely don’t want to leave her. She’s right. We only have each other now and if anything happened to Morgan, I don’t know what I’d do. “I’ll find my way back to you. I promise,” I say with as much confidence as I can muster. She believes me enough and nods. “Okay then,” is all she says and that’s enough.
Before we knew it, our windows started shattering and someone started banging on the door. I sprint to the kitchen and grab my bag, piling in whatever I can. I signal to Morgan to grab her emergency pack I made for her a long time ago and she nods running to where she hid it.

When I feel we have enough, or as much as we can take, I run to her and grab her arm when I see she has the bag and run.
We run to the backdoor and almost stumble into the grass as we hear our front door get busted down.