Humanity advanced, growing and changing. Ships traveled across the world, floating miles above our heads. Comets were mined, planets explored, technology invented and discovered. I think people were happy.
And then there was the war. Now, every day isn't a fight, but a coin toss. We die or we just keep going. No-one lives. Ships that were once things of beauty lie grounded, rusted and aged. Others transport the refugees. Shipping them from one hell to another. They work for a better place. I doubt that any exist. I don't know what happened. I don't know what I used to be. I don't know what this world used to be like.
Humanity doesn't advance anymore. It just continues.
The sound of gunshots nearby pulls me from my own head. I realise I had been kneeling by an old wardrobe, lost in my own thoughts for ages. Shaking my head free of my thoughts, I force myself to stand up and re-orientate myself.
The gunshots seemed to be below and behind me. Hopefully I can get back to the residence unscathed, but I can't do much more than hope. I turn and head for the door, cursing as I remember the damaged walkway between this flat and my lodging. Checking everything is secured, I pull the piece of cloth over my mouth and the goggles over my eyes. This high up, the smoke and fumes can be deadly.
Sliding the door sideways, the wind comes rushing in, along with the smog. Even with the goggles, the dirt and grime still momentarily blinds me. Nervously placing my left foot on the walkway, I grimace as the metal screeches, years of wind and lack of maintenance having taken its toll. Once I take my other foot of the panel, I breathe in relief as nothing happens. Holding tightly onto the one remaining railing, I move along the bridge, less than a meter wide. It takes less time than I thought it would, and I'm over before I realise it. Once inside the next tower block, I pull down my mask and pull the goggles onto my head. Looking down the stairway, leading into pitch black darkness, I find my torch. Turning it on provides just enough light to make my way down without getting unwanted attention.
Around half-way down the stairs, the sound of a single gunshot directly below me causes me to jump and turn off my torch. I peer down the stairway in the hope of seeing something and glimpse light. I can't tell which direction they're heading however, and can do nothing but wish they didn't spot my torchlight. After what seems like an eternity, they move on. After waiting a minute - always a minute - I continue down. Upon reaching the bottom, I glimpse the pale face, a ghost of someone I recognise.
It's not much further now. I scurry along the streets, staying close to the walls of the ruins of buildings. I slip inside my bunker, switching on the dim light. I learnt a long time ago to make sure not to have light visible outside of a dwelling, not unless you want to be found. The dull yellow light illuminates a small room, with a rat-eaten mattress and a small metal crate in the corner. I head over to the crate and pull it open, shoving the old and damaged batteries I'd found this run in before closing it again. The edges were lined with bits of cloth found on other runs, to ensure closing it wouldn't make too much noise. As I turn to prepare the little food I have, I become aware of Scraps lying in the corner, ripping into some small animal. Noticing me looking at him, the cat stares at me alertly, his yellow and wet fur dripping onto the floor below him. I'm still not sure if Scraps likes me, or if he's just accepted that I'm not going to leave. Sighing, I lie down on the mattress.
I don't want to keep going. I keep going.
[This is part of a longer story, but I thought that this worked well and possibly better alone. The full story is on wattpad under the same title]
YOU ARE READING
Small Worlds
Short StoryA collection of short stories. Some are pieces from other writing I've done that I think work well or better alone.
