As the sun—if you could call that pale glow a sun—began to dip below the jagged horizon, Elias sat on the floor of the master bedroom. He had enough supplies to make it to the next settlement, but he found himself lingering.
A framed photograph lay face down in the dust. He flipped it over with the tip of his knife. A family of four, smiling in front of this very house. Their faces were frozen in a moment of uncomplicated joy, a relic from before the sky turned. [S1E3] What Remains
He found the house at the end of the cul-de-sac. It was a colonial-style home, its white paint peeling like sunburnt skin. The front door was gone, replaced by a tangled mess of ivy that seemed to be the only thing holding the porch together. The Inventory of a Life As the sun—if you could call that pale