The Dark City
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The sky is a pale grey, whitewashing the world.
Broken bottles, empty cars, abandoned houses, and the remains of lives left behind litter the near forsaken landscape. It feels as if I am alone in the world, except for the few that still go out. I do not know if many do not go out because they choose, or because the choice has been made for them. I do not wish to know.
My tattered backpack on my back, I look around for any supplies that could help me, a forsaken scavenger in a ravaged world. The quiet is comforting. All of a sudden, a shrill cry echos through the morning mist, the sound of a struggle, and then the silence left behind is deafening. I do not need someone to tell me that it has happened again. I take off running, the sound of my feet are catastrophically loud in the quiet, and for a moment I wonder if it hears me. The thought only makes me go faster, running like my life depends on it.
Because it does.
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