[h2][center]GNYC, the Wax Apartments, formerly Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum[/center][/h2]
[h3][center]7:30 a.m., March 1st 2020[/center][/h3]

Hava woke with a start to her small wind-up alarm clock and sat straight up in her bed. Her mousy brown hair was tangled in frizzy loops that framed her thin, pale face. She scratched her long nose, blinking the sleep out of her brown eyes as she struggled to remember why she’d set her alarm so early. Glancing at the small chalkboard she’d hung on the wall next to her bed, she frowned. It read, “Don’t forget to turn off the alarm clock”. Hava sighed, reached over to the chair she used as a nightstand, and switched off the clock. She had meant to give herself a break and sleep in today. The mail business was busier than ever these days; no one wanted to go outside for anything less than necessities, and that meant that letters were being sent more and more frequently. Sundays were the only days Hava allowed to herself. 

Resigned to being awake, Hava threw her mismatched bedcovers off and swung her twiggy legs out of the bed. She dressed in yesterday’s jeans, an oversized t-shirt, and a man’s brown leather jacket. It dwarfed her petite frame and aged her even younger than she normally looked, but she’d found out long ago that large, baggy clothing was much warmer. She had even modified the sleeves to hang just over her knuckles and cut holes for her thumbs to slip through. Hava dutifully remade her bed and set the alarm clock on her pillow. Dragging the chair behind her, she sat herself before a cheap plastic mirror hanging on the wall and began finger-combing her hair into submission. After tying it back in a loose ponytail, she retrieved her jug of water, toothpaste, and toothbrush and quickly cleaned her teeth, staring at her reflection and wondering what on earth she’d do with herself today. By the time she’d finished she still hadn’t decided, so she sat on her bed and listened to the rest of the inhabitants of the Wax Apartments stir awake through the thin walls of her bedroom.

Madame Tussaud’s had been hastily renovated into crude apartments when GNYC’s population began to swell. The area’s existing residence buildings had simply run out of room when news of the settlement spread, and many former points of attraction had been commandeered to house the massive influx of people seeking refuge from the Reborn. Pieces of plywood, cheap drywall, even old doors were used to cordon off hundreds of small rooms within the wax museum, and Hava had managed to secure her own shortly after arriving in GNYC. Each room was furnished with a twin bed and one chair, and each resident was given a gallon of water that they could refill each morning at one of the settlement’s wells, since the indoor plumbing was no longer working. Hava looked around at her few belongings. Her bike leaned up against a wall, her messenger bag hanging from one handlebar. A waist-high chest of drawers sat across from her bed and doubled as a work table. A small wicker basket sat upon it, holding her collection of wood that she whittled into animals or abstract shapes and sold. She hadn’t been able to sell many in the past few months, now that so few people went out and about. Normally, Hava took her basket to Times Square and peddled her carvings to the people on the street. But no one wanted to waste time looking at useless trinkets--they ventured out only for necessities and rushed back home.

Hava was restless. She knew it wasn’t safe, but she longed to go outside. She debated, chewing her lower lip. At last she hopped off her bed, slipped into her beat-up sneakers, looped her messenger bag over one shoulder, grabbed her basket of carvings, and made off for Times Square. Perhaps she’d sell at least one trinket today.