Warmth

The warmth.

It felt so good to be warm – and felt so terrible to feel so good to be warm, right now.

He wore a scarf, up over his nose and mouth. It meant he could breathe properly, but the smoke and ash still got in his eyes. He felt like he’d become immune to the smell. At first, it had almost been enough to make him sick – he’d retched a few times. But now, hours later, he was just there.

He could put up with the smell, because it meant being warm, truly warm, for the first time in weeks.

His job was simple – he had to keep the fires burning. That, and keep the dogs away. There were lots of dogs. Curled up near the ashes, far enough away from the flames, but near enough to keep warm. That was fine – what wasn’t fine was when they got hungry. They’d fight with each other over the ready food supply. And he had to chase them off. He couldn’t hurt them – it would be wrong to hurt them. He just had to chase them off. Time and again. They kept coming back, and he kept chasing them off.

But the running kept him warm as well.

He was warm – and hunger wasn’t a problem. He might be used to the smell by now, but he doubted he’d have an appetite. Not so long as the fires kept burning.

There was nothing to eat around here.