She had always been afraid of the dark. Before the world turned black, she slept with a light on every night. While in bed she would try not to look in any of the dark corners of her room in order to avoid scary looking shadows. After a year, you would think that she would have gotten used to the dark by now. She had not. Maneuvering through the dark felt like playing a constant game of solitary Marco Polo, shuffling slowly until her feet came in contact with an object. If she was lucky, it would be something useful like a first aid kit or something. When she wasn’t so lucky, she would bump into a bug or a rock, of which either could be a danger. If she moved too fast, she risked tripping over something or slipping on a wet spot. Listening intently helped also. Although she couldn’t see, she had also adapted to using her ears to help her move around. Different sounds could mean different things. Any rustling could mean a rat or some other small rodent. Moaning could be someone snoring, or dying. Louder noises were easier to detect, of course. When her hearing would fail, she would have to get down on all fours and move around that way. Her knees were usually scraped due to the dragging of the skin across the gravelly or concrete floor. Although her eyes were mainly useless, they had adjusted well enough to differentiate between the values of some shadows. Moving objects, or people, had a kind of fuzz around them. Think of a cluster of dust balls knit tightly together. You would think after all of this time she would have gotten used to it. But monsters still exist in the dark.