.cetera in anglicus.
It was dark. Dark and sickly wet. It had been raining for hours.
With a view over the dead streets of Caracas, nothing stirred. Sounds of revving motorcycles emanated through tower's hollow core.
It was too wet to light matches or use the gas lantern. Raúl lay back on the damp mattress, facing towards the interior. Behind him, the last dregs of daylight was drowned out by the ensuing storm, a sun struggling to serve its purpose under the oppressive weather.
"no hay nada para comer!" complained his younger sister, Fiorella, running into the room.
"lo sé, mi pequeña flor," He said, patting her matted brown hair. It was true. They had been without food for days. Since the electricity in their region of the tower had gone, things had gone from bad to terrible. Living high up in Torre had been difficult, but without connections between floors, it had grown to be impossible.
Standing, his shirt stuck to his skin in the dense humidity.
"Vuelvo enseguida, hermana."
Debris littered the corridor, crunching underfoot. Steps sounded like shots in the darkness, the light had died.
The building's framework had been left exposed, and even now the wire mesh shone in the electric glow of his cellphone, casting wicked shadows. Water, trapped from above floors, dripped all around.
The corridor led him to a concrete stairwell, crumbling from water damage and disuse.