The bearded man was presently hunkered down in a dusty old room on the other side of the abandoned house. Like the kitchen, it was filthy and sprinkled liberally with animal waste. Under normal circumstances he'd be disgusted to be rummaging around in such circumstances, but he found he no longer cared. He had to find a charger. It was a slim chance, but he had to take it. He had no idea where he was or how to get back to those he cared about.
When the house had been inhabited, this room must have been used for storage. The room was cluttered with desks, plastic containers, and large totes. A rusted and cobwebbed treadmill languished in one corner, its form reeking of disuse. A rickety tan desk was squeezed in beside it, piled high with yellowed books and magazines. As he rifled through the desk's contents, he came across several coloring books in surprisingly good condition. A cursory inspection of the pages revealed them to be unused. Had there been children here? Perhaps the inhabitants had always wanted kids but it never panned out?
There was a medium sized cabinet beside that, its doors carelessly ajar. It contained rows and rows of CDs, ostensibly meticulously organized. The man didn't recognize many of the band names, though most of the collection seemed to be rock music from the 70s and 80s. The people who had lived in that house must be middle-aged, or at least have a taste for music from before their generation. He supposed it didn't really prove anything--he had a buddy who was totally into prog rock like Yes and Genesis but he was only 18 or 19. Still, this stuff was more in the vein of Molly Hatchet than anything else.
He closed the cabinet doors. He had to admit there was some small amount of shameful voyeuristic glee in looking through these strangers' belongings--but that's not why he had been searching the room. He needed to find a phone charger. The laptop he'd left in the bedroom on the other side of the house had at least a small amount of charge left. Surely the house's inhabitants hadn't been gone for long--and maybe they were even coming back? The man glanced around the filthy room once more. He wasn't sure why they'd want to return.
The man thought about inspecting the closet in the corner of the room opposite the treadmill, but it was blocked in by some chairs, another desk, and a couple of totes. He followed his gaze all the way down to his feet where he found a white container with three gray drawers. It seemed to be filled with CDs and DVDs. He felt it might be worth a look so he knelt down to inspect it, ignoring the layer of dust now caked on his blue jeans.
In the top drawer were actually several VHS tapes. He couldn't remember the last time he'd even seen one of those things. They looked alien and unfamiliar, but at the same time distantly comfortable. He recognized some of the movie names as comedies and cartoons he'd seen in his childhood--some of which he'd probably not been supposed to watch. There were a few R-rated comedies that he'd thought were hilarious at the time, but he now realized were pretty asinine. He'd been watching them only because he felt like it made him more mature in some way. As he grew older, he no longer felt that need to be mature. He just wanted to recapture that carefree innocence of his childhood. The grass is always greener, he supposed.
The middle drawer evidently contained more CDs, although these were for a different style of music. He didn't recognize a lot of those either, but it appeared many of the albums were from extreme metal bands. It was probably a safe assumption that these discs had a different owner--probably a son or daughter. He tried to imagine what that kid would have looked like. Long hair. Black t-shirts. Total disregard for authority. Maybe he was just projecting. It wasn't that long ago that the man might have fit that description.
The third and final drawer at the bottom of the container contained a huge mess of tangled wires. A busted set of headphones rested somewhere in that mass, but it was hard to tell if the wires belonged to it or if they were a conglomeration of random cords built up over the years. Gingerly, he pulled the ball of cords out of the drawer, wincing as a tiny spider skittered out behind it. Only a few moments of untangling later, he glimpsed the distinctive white cord of an iPhone charger. He'd found it.
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