TudorQueen
You called when I asked. When the phone rang, my face lit up. But after the first words from you, tears were rolling down my face. I did my best to muffle the sounds of my sobs so that you couldn't hear, but you heard anyway. I got an earful of how sick you were of me trying to make you feel guilty. I didn't know I was trying to do that.
Bombs exploded behind me as I ran, blood running down my legs. I clenched my baby with all my might, praying that somehow I would be able to save her, protect her, shelter her. I hoped that she would survive. But what kind of survival would it be in a world like this?
Her face flushed with shock. I bit my lip. How could I have been so rude? But what was rude about telling the truth? Why was I about to be censored when I had simply been honest. A bit too honest perhaps, brutally honest, but surely that was better than lying? No.
Disease ravaged the city. Rats and mice had the streets to themselves, though occasionally vultures would pick them up, but it was a rare day when the vultures did not have enough rotting human flesh to satisfy them all. We wanted to leave, to flee to the city, but we were too afraid to leave our building. If we walked through the streets, we would certainly be infected, and what good would the countryside do us then?
I miss the daffodils. Right now, they must be blooming all around Mom's farmhouse. She is probably scolding Billy, our neighbor, for coming over in the night to steal some to give to his wife. I wish I could be there. Why did I elope?
Tall, gleaming skyscrapers have fallen. If you didn't know they had once decorated the city, you would have never been able to guess from the rusted piles of steel. It is desolate and barren here; no weeds grow up. Central Park is no where to be found in this junkheap.
writing since 2013 · 8 entries · 3 days shown up
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citytryingstreetsfacehonestdarknighttallafraidcrowdedablevulturesbitrudesmogcovered