“Madam, you’re only eligible for level three support. Please step aside.”
“But please. I’m starving!”
“Please move or I’ll call security. Read the guidelines. Remaining sustenance is being prioritised for level ones. Families.”
Maria pictured her mother’s stash of bottled water, tins, and freeze-dried meals. She remembered how she’d constantly admonished her, refused her ‘ridiculous’ offers of foil blankets. It had made a great comedy bit: her crazed, apocalypse-obsessed Mum.
When she’d died, Maria cleared her house, took the survival kit to the food bank. It was only now, famished and alone, that the loss drowned her.
“Mum…I need you.”