HUMANITY by Caroline Samoluk

years of use. She stepped inside, brushed off the pebbles stuck in her delicate feet and gazed upon the snoring man in his worn leather seat, empty cans on the floor near him. She wished her mom could have seen her tonight.

Humanity by Caroline Samoluk

She sat at the wooden desk, gross yellow lamp light burning sickeningly just above her head. Its brightness somehow made her feel more tired, more worn down. A dead sun. The tea-filled mug sat at her right hand, staring across the desk into the outdoors. Flakes of ground black tea freckled the bottom. Elizabeth sighed, her breath full of something too heavy and too muddled to label. Disappointed in me. She scoffed. If only her parents knew the things she had seen. Seen and done. At some point within the last year she had come to the conclusion that humans were very fragile. Not mentally, necessarily, or emotionally, but physically. They died much too easily. It was a wonder to Elizabeth how humans as a whole had come so far. In that moment, she struggled to recognize herself as one. She pulled her glasses off her face and began typing again. Always another email, like a never ending stream. Please, I need it. She clicked on a tab. LinkedIn. Nothing. Another email, another email. The window rattled. She jumped out of her reverie and put her glasses back on. Nothing. She sipped the bitter tea. I need the caffeine.

Her thoughts wandered down the darkened streets and back to the hospital, and the man who had been brought in by his daughter. He had barely been able to breathe for all the blood and the daughter had panic in her eyes. They all knew it was hopeless. What a day it had been; what a week, what a year! She almost broke her mug as the pane rattled again. Opening the window, she stuck her head outside. A long way down and nothing else, at first glance. She nearly missed it, but there it was. A dark shadow with a human form, hovering untethered. But there was no humanity in this figure, only darkness.