The desolated houses were all variations of the same story; those that had weathered the bombings had been abandoned to the elements many years ago. Pealing paint, rusted kitchen appliances, splintered chairs and couches, tattered silk cushions… Humanity hadn’t heeded its prophets.
Burdie sighed as she adjusted her worn gas mask and checked her remaining ammunition; the survivors she knew were no less obstinate than their predecessors.
This piece of flash fiction was written in response to:
- The Sunday Muse #220;
- Fandango’s One-Word Challenge: ‘element’;
- Ragtag Daily Prompt Saturday: ‘silk’;
- Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt #269