Fiction: Group 3
It provides comfort that even they, cannot take away the river. The river was burned too, like everything
else, and the result was that it had taken away most of the water.
Wildlife is nonexistent after the big war, but this river is special.
***
Wind blew across the plain, and ashes swirled and whirled and twirled around, like the elegant ballet dancers
of the past.
A searing pain rippled through his head, much like being slapped by a brick, and he collapsed into a fetal
position. Ballet? How did he know that?
He stayed as still as he could, poised for another memory to strike him.
It never happened.
***
She nudged open a big plank of metal that served as a door.
The musty interior of the warehouse was dark, but the power still ran, so one single lightbulb lit up the
small room she called her home. Most of the warehouse had caved in, so almost all of the space had been
taken up by sheets of rusted metal, with a fine layer of ash on top. The only small pocket of space left was
inhabited by her, and on top was a piece of metal sheet hanging precariously over the edge of the mess that
was the warehouse.
She had scavenged what was left of the products, and so a corner of the space was occupied by an ash
covered bed and a tree trunk that she had cut down with her daggers, which served as a table for her and her
weapons.
She places her bucket next to the table, and covers it with a plastic tarp she found in the pile of warehouse-
debris.
The windows are drawn with charcoal and ash, depicting green forests and white wonderlands of the past.
It wasn’t much, but it was her only home.
***
His feet brought him to a miserable looking warehouse. His brain told him to stop, but his body kept
moving.
He started walking through a hole in the side, with a metal plank on the floor.
Two people were there. He was examining the drawings on the walls when an excruciating pain suddenly
ripped out from his body, and he wondered if he had been set on fire.
***
