part one, 733 words

overusing writing rules
The sky was an unnatural gray. It wasn’t cloudy, not exactly, but it was still like the sun had just given up on shining. I stood in the middle of the broken city, surrounded by twisted metal and crumbling concrete. The streets were silent, empty—save for the occasional flicker of movement behind abandoned windows. I felt a knot in my stomach. My gut was tight with dread, though I wasn’t entirely sure why. It was just the atmosphere. The air here was heavy, like something was always on the brink of happening. It was suffocating. I could feel it pressing on my chest, even though it wasn’t really there.

I gripped the old gas mask in my hand, the rubber edges worn from years of use. I could feel the slight stickiness of the material as it warmed against my skin. I had to make it to the underground shelter. The shelter was my only chance. If I didn’t make it, the drones would find me. The ones that constantly hovered overhead, watching for people like me, the ones who weren’t supposed to be out in the open. I knew that if they saw me, I’d be hunted like a rat. But that was the way it was in this world, wasn’t it?

My boots crunched against the debris as I took a cautious step forward. I glanced over my shoulder. Nothing there. But I had to check, because they might be there. They could be. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to hurry, to move faster, but I forced myself to slow down. I couldn’t rush. Rushing would get me caught. I was hyperaware of the sound of my footsteps, like they were too loud, like they might echo through the empty streets and bring unwanted attention.

The wind stirred the dust in the air, making it swirl around my legs. I hated how the dust clung to my skin, leaving a grimy layer. I hated it more than anything. But there was nothing I could do. In this world, you just had to deal with the grime. There was no escape from it. I paused at the corner of a building, my breath shallow and quick. I could feel the sweat running down my neck, despite the chill in the air.

breaking writing rules

The city was still a wasteland, but I wasn’t scared anymore. I didn’t have time for that. I was moving fast, not really thinking about it, just trying to get to the shelter. It was my only option, but what did that really mean? The shelter? Yeah, sure, it’s “safe.” But I wasn’t sure anything could save us from this place. I didn’t even know why I was bothering anymore. The drones? Yeah, they were a problem, but I wasn’t exactly on their radar yet.

I didn’t care about the wind whipping my face, or the way the smog made it hard to breathe. People said the world was ending. I didn’t even care. If the world was ending, who was I to stop it? There were no rules anymore, and even if there were, who was left to follow them?

I stopped at the edge of a crumbled building, staring at the black sky. I could see the blinking red lights of the drones far off, but they weren’t close enough to worry about. I kept moving. The street wasn’t as empty as it seemed. There were always people hiding in the shadows, people who didn’t make it to the shelters in time, people who were stuck here. I was just another one of them.

I didn’t look at the ground when I walked anymore. I didn’t care that there were shards of glass under my boots, or that my shoes were covered in mud. My fingers were sticky from the dirt, my skin was probably turning gray from it all, but none of that mattered.

The shelter wasn’t going anywhere. If I got there, fine. If I didn’t, well… the world was already crumbling, right? I wasn’t sure what was worse anymore: living like this or just waiting for it to fall apart completely.

I didn’t check my surroundings anymore, didn’t pause to listen for anything. The drones might be flying overhead, but I wasn’t running anymore. Running was pointless. Let them find me. If they did, maybe they would end it for me. I’d be free.

part two, 470 words

The city was big. Too big. Buildings all crooked-like, leaning on each other like drunk old men. It smelled like rust and something worse, like the world forgot to clean itself. I walked, fast but slow, feet scraping against the broken streets that ain’t never getting fixed.

I ain’t cared no more, anyway. The shelter prolly gone. Or full. Or just a lie like everythin else. People be saying, “Go underground, you’ll be safe,” but safe don’t exist. Not here. Not now. Not never.

I keep walkin. Don’t look back. Don’t stop. Don’t think. The sky all wrong, like someone scribbled black crayon over it, and the sun? Dead, maybe. I dunno. Ain’t seen it in weeks. My boots? Totally wrecked. The soles flap like hungry mouths, but I just kick through the rubble like I got somewhere to be.

“Drones comin,” somebody whisper-yells from a doorway, but I ain’t listen. Let ‘em come. Let ‘em try. They already took everythin. Took Mom. Took Liam. Took hope. I spit at the ground, but it don’t hit right, just kinda splats sad-like on my shoe.

I pass a toppled sign: “H0PE IS NOT LOST.” Letters all wrong. Bent. Twisted. I laugh. Loud and ugly. Ain’t no hope. Never was.

The city groans. Or maybe that’s me. I dunno. My legs keep moving even though they're paining from all the miles I've walked in the past few days.

“Drones comin,” somebody whisper from the shadows, voice like sandpaper scratchin' my ears. I don’t stop. Ain’t my problem if they comin’. Let ‘em come. Let ‘em try.

The streets all busted up, buildings leanin’ so far over I wonder why they don’t just fall already. They should. World wanna crumble, let it crumble. The air taste like metal, like breathin’ in blood, and my throat hurt but I swallow it down like it don’t matter. Nothin’ matter.

A kid cryin’ somewhere. Or maybe a cat. Or a ghost. Or my brain makin’ stuff up again. I keep walkin. The wind slap my face hard, and my hair all tangled and gross, but whatever. Ain't like I got a brush or somethin’. Ain't like I care.

A shape move up ahead — or maybe it don’t. My eyes all blurry from the smoke, stingin’ like somebody rubbed glass in ‘em. I blink. Hard. It don’t help. I walk faster. Boots flappin’. Heart poundin’. Ain’t no point but my legs keep goin’.

I see the drone lights blinkin’ now, red like eyes, buzzin' like angry bugs. They hover above me, watchin’. Waitin’.

“Go ahead,” I mumble, voice all scratchy like an old record. “Do it.”

The drones hang there, judgin’ me like gods, and I laugh. I laugh loud and ugly, the sound bouncin' off the broken walls, echoing back at me.

I keep walkin.

part three, 402 words

I run. Feet slam against concrete. Breath sharp, shallow, burning my throat. The city twists around me like it’s alive — broken glass, jagged walls, shadows moving, stretching, reaching. The drone hums behind me. Close. Too close.

I don’t look back. Can’t. Won’t. If I stop, I die. If I trip, I die. If I even think about stopping, I die. My lungs claw for air. Legs scream. Skin slick with sweat, dirt, blood. Don’t know where I’m bleeding from. Don’t care.

Alleyway up ahead. Narrow, dark, dangerous. I don’t hesitate. Don’t slow down. I throw myself into the dark like it’s salvation. Trash piles scrape my arms. Rust bites my skin. A rat screeches, scurries away. The drone’s light flares at the alley entrance, red and furious. I press against the wall. Chest heaving. Heart hammering.

They’ll find me. They always do. They always win.

I clutch my side. Fingers wet. Sticky. A gash I don’t remember getting. My vision blurs. Black creeps into the corners. The alley smells like rot. The air heavy, suffocating, sharp with the sting of metal and decay.

I hear the buzz of the drone fading, growing distant, disappearing. Relief rushes through me. I choke on it. Almost laugh. Almost sob. I slide down the wall, knees hitting cold concrete, head thudding back against the brick. My body shakes. I breathe. I breathe. I breathe.

I close my eyes. Just for a second.

Just for a second.

They’ll find me. They always do. They always win.

I clutch my side. Fingers wet. Sticky. A gash I don’t remember getting. A wound I can’t afford. My vision blurs. Black creeps into the corners. My legs buckle, scrape against concrete, skin peeling like paper. The alley smells like rot. The air heavy, suffocating, sharp with the sting of metal and decay.

The buzz fades. Faint. Distant. Gone. Relief crashes into me, cold and cruel, a tidal wave that leaves me gasping. I choke on it. Almost laugh. Almost sob. My body shakes. Every inch of me hurts. I breathe. I breathe. I breathe. The silence too loud. The shadows too deep. My hands too bloody.

I slide down the wall. Knees hitting cold concrete. Head thudding back against the brick. Limbs twitching, heart stumbling, blood pooling under my skin like ink.

I close my eyes. Just for a second.

Just for a second.

Just long enough to die.

part four, 418 words

I drag myself through the sewer tunnel. Hands raw. Knees bleeding. The stench coats my throat like poison, thick and heavy, but I keep crawling. Behind me, Ash pants, voice raspy, coughing up something wet. Probably blood.

“They’re gone,” she whispers. “We lost the drones.”

I nod. Can’t speak. Can’t stop. We inch forward, grime squelching beneath our bodies, water splashing cold against our skin.

“We’ll make it,” Ash says, voice brittle, breaking. “We just gotta get to the Outlands. Find the resistance. They’ll take us in.”

My fingers scrape against a ladder rung. Rusted. Jagged. Hope spikes through my chest, sharp enough to hurt. “Found a way up,” I rasp.

Ash collapses against the wall, chest heaving, eyes wild. “We’re actually gonna live.”

I start climbing. Muscles screaming. Bones grinding. I drag myself up, rung by rung, every movement a war. Ash follows, slower, weaker, her grip slipping, knuckles white. The manhole cover above us glows faintly with daylight. Just a little farther.

We emerge onto a deserted street. Buildings gutted, windows shattered. No signs of life. The sky bruised with smoke. I collapse onto the pavement, laughing, shaking, crying.

“We did it,” Ash wheezes.

And then she says it.

“I was the one who turned you in.”

The world stops. My heart punches against my ribs, once, twice, then falls silent.

I turn my head. Stare at her. She won’t look at me. Eyes downcast, fingers twisting her bloodstained shirt.

“What?” I whisper.

“I didn’t mean to,” she says, words tumbling over each other, frantic, desperate. “They caught me last month. Said they’d kill my sister. I told them where you’d be. I thought you’d get away. I thought — I thought —”

I sit up. The street blurs around me. My breath comes sharp, jagged, splintering through my chest like knives.

“They’re probably already coming,” she adds, voice thin, hollow. “I’m sorry.”

The drone hum starts again.

Closer this time.

I scramble to my feet. Ash doesn’t move. She just watches me, eyes shining with tears, mouth pressed into a tremble.

I want to run. Want to leave her there, let her rot. But I can’t. I can’t make my legs move. I can’t stop staring at her, my brain shattering over and over again, trying to piece this into something that makes sense.

“You killed us,” I say.

Ash wipes her face with her sleeve. Stands.

“I know,” she whispers.

The drone light slices through the fog, bathing us in red.

No more running.