Under the overpass, Clari senseless drew lines in the dirt with a stick. It was distracting from her boredom and her self destructive regret of her inability to find her family. Among the dull and distant buzzing of the dead, she could hear someone very much alive.
If she didn’t know better, she would have said that maybe telepathy was her specialty. But she was hyper in tune to those who were kind. Genuinely kind people had always carried psychically to her over others, drawing her like a moth to a light.
Before everything went to Hell, before she had even joined up with her group, finding the kind people had been her survival. Walking near them, sitting across from them on the train, she soaked in the kindness they unknowingly gifted her. It was so much better than... the people she had to deal with.
Now the girl was alone, having not heard anything in weeks, and she was lonely. There were only so many times one could talk to their brother’s makeshift headstone or count cans.
The person wasn’t far away, and she was hoping she could at least say ‘hi’, maybe have some company for a while, and share her cans with the person.