(Viewpoint: Chetan)
The cold wakes me up before I get hungry.
But hunger soon set in.
I opened my eyes.
There is no ceiling.
Just a black sky disappearing in the distance.
A drop falls.
Then another one.
The noise echoes throughout the gallery.
I remain motionless, listening to my surroundings.
Silence
Only then do I straighten up.
My bones are cracking.
My clothes are still damp from yesterday.
I run a hand over my stomach.
It is empty.
Obviously .
I've lost count of how many days it's been since I found anything to eat.
And...
Two...
Maybe three.
I pick up my piece of metal.
An old broken bar with a sharpened edge against the stone.
It's not a weapon.
That's what allows me to hunt.
I slide it against my forearm.
Then I walk.
The corridors all look the same.
Pierre.
Metal.
Humidity.
Darkness swallows everything.
Sometimes an old pipe passes through the ceiling.
Sometimes a dead machine rests against a wall.
No one knows how many centuries they have been there.
Nobody cares.
They don't feed anyone.
In the distance...
a noise.
Footsteps.
I stop immediately.
I crouch down behind a column.
Three figures pass by.
Two adults.
A teenage girl.
They are talking.
So they ate recently.
I watch them disappear.
I could follow them.
Wait until they are asleep.
Kill them and take their food.
My gaze glides over their bags.
They seem heavy.
Very heavy.
I tighten my metal bar a little more.
Then I look away.
Too dangerous.
Three against one.
Todaytoday...II don't have enough strength
I must stay alive.
I'm continuing on my way.
A smell stops me in my tracks.
You sang?
It's very recent.
My heart is racing.
No fear.
Of hope.
I'm running.
A few dozen meters further on...
A man is lying against a wall.
Half of his face is gone.
Her eyes stare into space.
Already dead.
Two other people searched his body.
I slow down.
They didn't see me.
The tallest one gets a piece of dried meat.
The other one opens a water bottle.
They snicker.
Then they leave again.
I don't think they took everything.
I'm still waiting, until he disappears.
Then I approach.
The pockets.
Environmental.
The bag.
Torn.
I'll continue.
My fingers finally find a small piece of root that was forgotten in a lining.
Barely enough to fill a mouth.
I look at her for a long time.
Then I eat.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
I close my eyes.
The taste is bitter.
But my stomach stops burning for a few minutes.
That's enough.
Further away...
Children are playing.
Finally...
"play".
They chase each other with pieces of iron.
One of them falls.
The others burst out laughing.
No one helps him get up.
He eventually managed to get back on his feet by himself.
Limping.
I continue on my way.
Here...
No one is offering a helping hand.
Because the one who extends his hand can no longer hold his weapon.
I sit for a few moments against a pipe.
My legs are trembling.
One should never remain still.
An old woman walks past me.
She is carrying a child against her.
Very small.
He's hardly moving anymore.
She looks at me.
A long time.
Her lips parted slightly.
– You wouldn't have…
I get up before she finishes.
I keep moving forward.
I already know what happens next.
She will ask for food.
Then help.
Then she will die.
Like the others.
I have no time to waste.
The first time I wanted to help someone...
I was six years old.
A boy had fallen into an old conduit.
I had extended my hand to him.
Someone had hit me on the back of the head.
While I was watching the boy.
He had taken everything I owned.
From...
I never reached out my hand again.
I just became aware of it here.
Without waiting for another hand to save me.