A story of a road, silence, and a strange bond born amidst the ruins, where civilization ended long ago.

As if life wasn't hard enough being bullied and treated like garbage all the time; my loathsome, insufferable seat mate just had to come with his "secrets" and torture my every waking hour. What's the big deal you say? Nothing except for the fact that he's some insanely beautiful Greek God under those nerdy glasses. And now, he lives next door. I'm Sarah and this is my story. Disclaimer: This story was written in 2011. Just so you know.

Take my hand, come with me, I have something interesting for you to see. Poems here and poems there, Poems and books everywhere. Filled with dreams and filled with tears, Sometimes hopes and sometimes fears. So take my hand there's so much to see, Together we'll read just you and me. {All work is my own} {#1 in Poems // 2/13/20} {Please ask/tag/credit me in any poems you want to use, thanks!}

Beneath the broken cities, buried in ash and steel, lies the Filthlands-a cold, lawless sprawl of tunnels, firelit camps, and rebels with nothing left to lose. Bellara was never meant to lead. But after the death of a legend and a failed execution by the government, she finds herself at the center of a war no one planned, surrounded by killers, cowards, and ghosts. As the last spark of resistance, she's forced to rise-not as a hero, but as a fighter with blood on her hands and vengeance in her heart. Her people are starving. Her allies are fractured. And the government just made its biggest mistake: t inhey came for her home. Now, with the help of a nameless sharpshooter, a reckless brother, and the shattered remains of the Seven, Bellara will either burn the world back into balance-or lose what's left of herself trying. Power isn't inherited. It's taken.