To Invite Guilt

There was one rule: don't open the door. It was the one line that the news, the radios and our friends over the phone kept repeating as though gospel.

For us, with transparent glass from the top to bottom of our door showing the state of the outside world, it was easy to see why. We had it installed so we could see when our cat came back from her walks, who knew it would come in useful like this?

Knock, knock.

There have been as many as six separate knocks on our doorstep per day as of late. And we had to reject them all. Even my own father.

They acted like normal people, but could sum up from the screams next door that it was not wise to open the door to meet them. Even while dimidiated, they seemed to walk with invisible legs. Likely left their victims little room to run. It was a nasty measure. Through peepholes, you wouldn't be tell that the person speaking wasn't human.

I've gone without opening the door for about a month now. Since the last week, I've began rationing out my food. Some days I'd skip eating altogether to preserve what few meals I had remaining.

This morning was like any other. I woke up and did my best to ignore the knocks. When I heard scratching on the door instead, I was shocked.

I rushed towards the door and saw Sparkles for the first time in two months.

She, too, was dimidiated. There were bite marks and blood in the transition between her fur and air.

Scratch, scratch.

The worst I had feared did come true. I was the one who indulged her desire to explore outside. I...

She let out the cutest meow.

I missed her dearly.