Preliminary.

Alex Kingstone stood by the door way of his house. An old, two, storey, wooden cabin. The house seemed to be crooked due to its old age. The damp walls had moss and liverwort covering bits of it. The gutters had come out of place and lay in the tall overgrown evergreen grass. Its windows had missing pieces of glass lay on the grass reflecting, soothingly.

Termites and wood louse could be seen at the base of the house. They had eaten up most of the wood contributing to its crooked nature. The once blue house was old and boring. The wind vane at the roof had already snapped leaving only a metallic stump. This would most likely attract lightning during heavy rains. Vines had grown up the house as dandelions made the roof their home. At one corner of the roof, hornets had made their nest. Large and white.

The door of the house could barely hold on to the hinges as it rotted away. The ground around the door had developed bareness, along the arc at which the door opened. That part had been left bear with no grass growing. Ale walked into the house and the floor boards creaked loudly. He heard a squeal and assumed that another rat had been caught in his traps.

He sneezed loudly as dust rose upon opening and closing the door. The cabin had been divided into five rooms: the sitting, kitchen, dining, bedroom and guest bedroom. He walked past the steel basement door and sat on the old couch. It creaked and rocked and dust rose. In front of the couch was a foot stool and a coffee table. The coffee table had a tray containing a piece of bread that had developed mould and tea. If that's what you'd call it.

It had turned into a black, murky, oily liquid. It had flies that had drowned in it as they tried to drink out of the cup. Some had began rotting on the tea. A bad odour followed but he could not sniff it due to the large open space and windows in every room. In front of the coffee table was a television stand. And on top of the T.V stand, nothing. There was only left an outline of the 43Inch mounted flat screen. He looked at the tray in disgust and clicked. He was frustrated by the lingering thought in his mind. Yet again, he was still frightened by the outcomes of the epidemic that had been infecting people.

All he had by his side was a radio that was right beside the tray. He would have turned it on but didn't really see the need. The fire place was empty, only ashes remained. There was still warmth. He took the tray and walked straight down the hallway, past the stairs and dining room and into the kitchen. A gas cooker sat along a wall, proceeded by brown mahogany counters. The sink was not far away. He placed the tray in the sink and turned the valve to open the water.

Only two drops. He slapped himself. He had forgotten that water supply had been cut off a few weeks ago. He paced about the kitchen and looked around. The spiders had decided to make the top corners their home. Huge, thick, white, stringy webs ran across the whole top. The kitchen in itself had a fridge placed at one corner and beside it, a dish washer. They were all useless to him now that there was no power supply. He had other wise adopted the charcoal cooler instead. He planned to dismantle the fridge but he didn't have the technical know how or to begin with, the tools needed.

He also adopted to using ammonia in the gas cooker as there was no more gas delivery. It seemed as if the whole town had gone on lock down. To some extent, this was true but to some other, it was fake. He cooked up a fast meal consisting of boiled rat soup and some leftovers from the previous day. He carried his food to the dining which was only a few paces away. In the room was a large round birch table. It had six seats surrounding it. Some cockroaches scattered away from the table as he sat on the rocky chair. The cushion layer had worn out and he could feel the hard timber. Uncomfortable, but there was he could do about it. Not then, he was poor. He began eating his yucky meal. He finished up by sucking the tail as he slurped the remaining soup. He stood up and walked back to the kitchen, the tray in his hands, placed it on the sink and walked to the sitting room. He sat on the couch and began thinking as he watched the sun set. Though, he stopped before the sun could fully set. He took a lantern and lit it, using a match box and match sticks.

The flame lit brilliantly providing enough light for the him to see. He replaced the glass and walked towards the door, with the lantern in his hand. He pushed the door to the outside and breathed in. Fresh air. As tranquil as it had always been. He picked up three pieces of wood that had been chopped and placed in the fireplace. The fireplace was the only part in the house not made of wood. Its base made by cobble stone and mortar while the path all the way to the chimney made by bricks and mortar.

When the fireplace was ready, he lit a fire. After a few minutes, the house began to warm up. He faced the fire and tears rolled down his cheeks as he thought of the past events and how it all occurred. He counted and weighed. He lay on the couch and cried himself to sleep.

* * * *

Morning arrived but no cocks were crowing. As a matter of fact, none could be heard crowing. He woke up. The fireplace was still lighting and heating the room. The lantern's wick whithered due to overuse hence rendering it useless. He slapped himseelf on the forehead once again. He had rendered it useless and to make matters worse, it was the only one. He paced about the room, thinking of his next move. He remebered and walked upto the rat trap. It had caught one. Just one. That was what he was to survive on for the day. It didn't make sense at all. If he could surpass one hour, how was he expected to feed during lunch and supper.

An idea popped in his mind. But he dismissed, high chances were that he couldhis food for the day instead. He carried the rat to the kitchen and prepared his meal. He ate ravenously not really caring about the quality or the food. All he cared, by then, was filling his stomach. After eating, he had to attend to matters at hand. With water running low, he would soon die of dehydration or worse, not be able to prepare soup..

The idea of cultivation did come to his mind, but what was he supposed to grow without water. He paced about the room thinking. What was he to do next? He thought of two things but he could only do one. The first one was to make a hunting weapon and hunt the animals around his compound without having to go over the fence or through the gate.

The second one, was to make a water harvester. This would make it easier to gain access to water. He paced about and weighed his thoughts. Finally, he came up with a solution. He walked out of the house and locked the door. Beside the cabin, was a shack. An old wooden shack. With one window having no glass. The pieces of broken glass lay on the grass and on the floor of the shack, right below the window. He walked into the shack. One table had been placed against a wall but around the centre of the length. The surface had been covered by dust.

Around the table, was all kinds of tools, hang on the wall or placed on shelves. He had decided to build a water harvester. By around noon, he was already done. The contraption consisted of simple parts like tubes, palm fronds, and a water can. All the rest were complex. He placed it a few paces from hi home and waited to see if it would work.

Then to the next problem. Food was an issue. For as long as he'd registered, he'd been eating boiled rat soup for some time. He wondered how other types of foods used to taste or whether they were poisonous or not.