Short Stories, Poems and Concepts

Remnants of a Society

Thick, black smoke clogs the air, hastily rising as if it wishes to escape its restless and overbearing sibling. The once clear blue sky is blotted out like an ink spill on parchment, the pleasant warmth of the sun so suddenly replaced by the acute burning of all things in all directions. The once picture perfect London scene replaced by what one might imagine in a dystopian novel; rubble from crumbling buildings littering the ground, fires paving a continuous path of destruction through all things flammable, a trail of open doored cars abandoned on the sides of roads which lead towards a soundless traffic jam. The only discernible movement being that of crackling fires still so hungry for more, of which there is little to give.

Unbeknownst to the destruction, some of humanity remains.

She swelters under the oppressive heat, just barely remembering to crouch low to the ground so she might be able to breathe free from the smoke. Her brother follows suit, struggling to breathe, his inhaler helping only marginally. He racks with coughs in a futile attempt to rid his lungs of smoke, the stench of burning things and people becoming far too familiar, far too normal, for any sane person's liking. Silent tears stream down the young boy's face, paving their own path through the ash caked upon his cheeks. The woman drags a bandanna from her jacket pocket, unfolding it and refolding it in a different manner. She wraps it around her brother's lower face, his mouth and nose now somewhat more protected from the onslaught of unclean air. She wipes his tears away, her own having dried up hours ago. The boy manages a weak smile, a strangled 'I'm alright' falling from his lips. The woman - for she can no longer be termed as a girl - matches his with one of her own, for once grateful for the dirt on her face. She hopes it hides her worry, for she knows not what they'll do when his inhaler is one day empty.