Seeing something so obvious written again and again on the pillars, the long steps to the entrance of the building, and the walls ahead showed a bone-chilling kind of despair.
I was surprised, thinking that there would be more curses and vulgar drawings under the graffiti, but that wasn't the case.
Ethan, a few steps ahead of us, bent down and reached for a few papers amidst the bunch of trash.
He looked through them and pursed his lips.
"A petition."
I walked closer with Henry hanging on me, but I didn't have to look at what Ethan was holding; these signed papers with names and addresses were spread everywhere among the other trash.
I spotted a paper with a few words at the beginning still recognizable: "Not enough/the wrong medications, moldy food, not enough—" The rest wasn't readable, but under the words were again names and addresses as well as signatures.
These petitions were from before they turned off the water because of the civil unrest—portraying the cause for it.
