The sun’s slow descent towards night had begun, when I arrived at the rear gate of the compound. Seeing it never ceased to amaze me. Always such a stark contrast to the city scorched by the unanticipatable death that fell from the sky, at any moment you could be walking down the road, the next, what’s left of you is a smoking heap of ash. The rubble of a one great city only reaffirmed the thought. Once a home for thousands now fear looms above all. There was no true hope left here. There is nothing left but to survive.
It would be a long shift.
Two hours later I paced in the courtyard of luxury, in the yard of a richman who seemed to have evaded the destruction of the city. His house had not a speck of damage to it, thick, likely bulletproof windows guarded by thick metal bars and locks. It was like houses of the rich politicians before the war, large, well kept, and expensive. Jealousy had filled me every time I saw it, with thoughts of myself living in a house like this; but I gave up that dream. There is nothing left but to survive.
I hated my uniform, I was made to wear dress shoes, that my boss had given me,they were probably one of the most expensive thing I owned; I wanted to sell them but I would be out of uniform and I needed this job. There was nothing left but to survive.
I was torn from my thoughts by the sound of shouting. I ran to the gate, expecting to see a mob of angry starving survivors in this city come for the food that there tax had bought. What I saw stunned me in my tracks. Two kids were playing football just outside the compound, just kids. One ran across the pavement of a determination of a professional athlete dribbling towards the posts; the other stood at the posts, but his head wasn’t in the game. The advancing kid blasted the ball straight into the other’s face. I winced. The goalie doubled over. I glanced at my grandfather’s watch, and thought of the times we played together when I was a kid, a simpler time. If these kids can find joy in this wasteland, where bombs could fall at any moment, maybe there is still a place for hope here.

The Guard stood in shiny leather shoes, a fancy watch on his wrist in the gateway, the rewards for protecting the wealthy from the people they should be helping. He looked relaxed despite his finger resting on the trigger on his gun, and tired. It would be a long night shift.
The football slammed into my face doubling me over, and the guard winced. Good. He was watching. I picked myself up off the ground and brushed myself off, Paul was beaming, he knew I was deep in thought while faking focus. I glanced at the guard again, back to feigning indifference. Then I heard the que and watched the guards boss rolled out of the compound in his car, it was a sharp contrast to its surroundings, white, clean, undamaged and expensive. There was nothing left but to survive.
As the car went out of sight and the guard relaxed, too much than he should have. I nodded to Paul. He kicked the ball over the fence. For beds, for food, let’s begin.