What are you like in the morning?

Dawn. A rosy glow on the horizon, pushing back the velvet night.

It found him curled up on the cold, damp ground, his threadbare jacket serving double duty as a blanket. He had not slept well, but then, he never did. Sleep was a necessary evil. And a dangerous one. The post-Big Death world was filled with feral animals or worse - people. The lost, angry type of people who would do anything to survive. Anything. He'd learned long ago to always keep one eye open.

Sitting up with a quiet groan, he rubbed the kinks out of his back. His limbs were stiff and sore, protesting the movement. The worn backpack lay close at hand, never beyond reach. Pulling it closer, he opened the flap and rummaged around inside. His questing fingers encountered a small steel can with faded label but passed it by. Instead, it found a scrap of cloth wrapped around a bruised apple. Breakfast. He took three careful bites from the rotting fruit then rewrapped it tucked it safely away. There was no telling when or where his next meal would come from, so every morsal was precious.

Pushing himself to his feet, he relieved himself where he stood. There was no one to see. No modesty to protect. He wouldn't be coming here again. It was just another stop on the road to survival.

The dawn of a new day. A day like any other, promising struggle and hunger and pain. Sore feet and a heavy heart. Another day of life.

Setting off on his path to nowhere, not for the first time he wondered if waking up was worth it . . .