Streetlights flicker, the wind whispering in your ear as you walk down the street. Exposed skin prickles at the cold air and you pick up your pace, hands buried deep in pockets.

Twilight has already faded into darkness, an inky sky bruising the last streaks of daylight. Cloud wisps crawl by, grey shadows painted on a dark sky. The few city lights are reflected in the pieces of mirrored windows.

A car passes. Then a single pedestrian walks by, face lit up by the eerie glow of a dented phone. The streets fall silent.

You navigate across broken pavements, where grass pushes up through jagged cracks. Uneven tarmac crunches underfoot, as you hop over a fallen streetlight, the lamp still flickering.

The quiet night surrounds you, and for a moment, you let yourself remember the way the world used to be. The bustling streets, the rhythm of the morning commute, the weekend revellers you used to hear out your window late at night, the stench of car exhausts in a clouded dirty city, the warmth of your mother’s hand as she led you to the school gates.

It’s the little things that have stuck with you from the world before. Everything else has been consumed by the sound of explosions ringing in your ears, the screams and the fires that laid waste to a dying city.

That was many years ago now.

And although things have fallen quiet now, this city is far from perfect. It’s collapse left people aimless and fat, the rich growing lazy on the massive fortunes they had amassed while everyone else was at a loss as to how they should move on. Eventually, they began to pick up the pieces of the broken city.

This was what was left.


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