Stryker Ostafew

Jack and Jhillika

Jhillika stood by the open window and looked into the street below. Her eyes darted from shadow to shadow, looking for movement. In a city that once was bustling with life, even at night, the only thing moving was the occasional rat. The moon was bright, casting shadows on the piles of rubble and burned out cars. Across the street was a dead oak tree in an abandoned lot and something was moving along a branch. When it stopped she could see it was a cat with white patches on its face. It sat on the branch, motionless, peaceful. She recognized it as one she had made friends with a while back. She would often leave tidbits for it when she could. It reminded her of a kitten she had when her family lived in Mumbai.