Fiction: Group 4
down the sea, and they didn't leave until there was no more light on the horizon and night fell.
It was there
where his father taught him how to fish, and at times, teach him how to swim in the river.
It was thanks to
his father, that he would have a great love of the river. The river that he would always remember. Such that
its shores would seem like a second home to him.
No matter how many years had done, even long after his father had long passed, he would always remember
the loving expression on his face.
But as the smog came and trash collected, the fish would wither and die, and the river would lose its colour
and beauty, and no longer would his family and friends walk by the river — only he would, in memory of
something that once was.
He had known how it had come to this.
The careless activities of frequent visitors to the river who would
leave their waste in the river, and the frequent outpour of people to this city, who sought profit and
opportunity, and in their pursuit, ruined it all. And so, the once great beauty of the place was squandered
and wasted, all thanks to their greed and apathy.
And they sure paid dearly for what they did.
Many who
once eagerly came to settle for opportunities now desperately wanted to leave the polluted wasteland.
He
pitied them greatly at what their folly had done.
As it was thanks to their folly, all beauty was gone.
Slowly, he heaved himself up, walking back beyond the reach of the river and walked along the shore
alongside the road.
The road that had brought back many memories every time he walked on it.
Often the
times he and the ones he loved would all walk on it to and from home. He looked straight ahead, and
decided to walk further. Here, the road was more winding; he didn't know how long he walked, but he
could see the buildings even clearer and somehow, up close, they felt more ominous and eerie, with
towering empty shells of structures, robbed of their glory, and nothing but husks with no one living in
them. And so were the stores, with empty shelves, any food or anything of worth all taken away, nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
People would visit those stores and enter and exit the buildings all the time to do their work. The streets
were at times clogged with cars and there was plenty of commotion and noise.
Yet here they were, the
bustling roads empty, the buildings empty shells, the clogged streets free of vehicles.
He pushed open the door of one of the shops, stepping into a dark room, looking around for something of
worth.
Often, he would bring his children and his grandchildren into such shops, and then, their shelves were full
of things to buy and the lights were bright. And not this desolate shell.
He searched around.
As usual, there was nothing much of worth, except for a few boxes lying
about.
Unsatisfied, he left.
He did the same with the other stores and found nothing. There was nothing but gathered dust and empty
silence, as everywhere, and the corners of the city always brought a strange feeling towards him.
As he walked, he thought.
Those thoughts of his were the only company to him nowadays with no one
around.
Sometimes he would wonder if he should have gone with his family instead of staying as he had
wanted.
Once again, he felt a violent guttural feeling in his throat and coughed very loud, and it echoed off the
derelict structures, causing him to hear it all around. It was time to get back to his home. Pulling the mask as
tight as possible over his nose and mouth, he struggled back down the road towards home. As he walked, he
could not resist coughing out more. The poisonous air was getting to him, wrapping him even tighter with
the veil of death.
But he would not succumb, at least not so soon or today. With renewed strength, he
ran.
Down past the colourless and lifeless streets, passing the derelict empty towers, the run-down cars, they all
felt like a blur to him when he ran. As he ran, he could also feel the venomous touch of the air, its claws
closing tighter over his throat, and more guttural sounds escaped it, making his coughing worsen. Then, he
staggered, allowing his weakness to take him, and collapsed on the ground, and lay, agony spiraling through
his body.
He sputtered more, and he even thought he might cough his lungs out.
Coughing violently from the air, he
mustered all the strength he could to stand up. But as he did that, he felt great pain.
It was as if his whole
body was burning apart, until finally, he succeeded. His mind was woozy and his body felt limp and again,
he staggered, walking awkwardly.
He struggled to have a proper view, and walk fast, but his body could not act. With great strength, he finally
pushed himself up, yet even as he came up, his body felt unsteady and ready to fall.
Then, he looked right
