Cinders of Revolution

Chapter One

The once-thriving city of New Elysium lay in ruins, a barren wasteland plagued by relentless sandstorms and acid rain. My home, an old building, stood barely against the elements. Every morning, I would wake up to the sound of the wind howling through the cracks in the walls and the sky dimmed by a thick, toxic haze.

"Ella, have you finished gathering water yet?" Mara's voice, sharp and unforgiving, sliced through the air. Mara was my stepmother, and she ruled over our small, dilapidated household with an iron fist.

"Yes, Mara," I replied, trying to keep the weariness out of my voice. I handed her the rusty canister filled with murky water from the last functioning well, a few miles away. The journey was long and treacherous, but necessary for our survival.

"Good. Now get to work on cleaning the rest of the house. We can't afford to live in filth," she commanded.

I nodded silently, knowing better than to argue. My stepsisters, Bianca and Selena, lounged nearby, laughing and chatting as if the world outside our door wasn't crumbling. Their indifference to our dire situation infuriated me, but I had learned to keep my feelings hidden.

As I scrubbed the floors, I couldn't help but let my mind wander. How did we end up here, in this wasteland? The Regime's rise to power had been swift and brutal, leaving the city in ruins and its people in despair. My parents had been among those who tried to resist, but they paid the ultimate price. Now, I had to fend for myself in a world that seemed determined to crush me.

"Ella, stop daydreaming and get back to work!" Bianca's shrill voice brought me back to reality. She and Selena reveled in my misery, finding joy in my suffering.

"I'm almost done," I muttered, focusing on the task at hand.

As the day wore on, I found solace in small moments. The sound of wind chimes made from scraps of metal, and the occasional glimpse of a flower growing stubbornly on the cracked earth—these little things reminded me that there was still beauty in the world, even if it was hard to find.

When night fell, I retreated to my small corner of the house, a tiny space partitioned by tattered curtains. I pulled out the old book my mother had left me, a collection of fairy tales from a time before the world had gone mad. The stories of magic and wonder were far from my reality, but they gave me hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for a better life.