There are no survivors.
The words, unspoken by anyone but ringing true in my heart, throbbed through me as I limped my way through the wreckage.
There are no survivors.
Warm blood matted my hair; the burning metal stench of the wreckage assaulted my nose. I didn’t look too closely at the twisted wasteland of carnage around me.
There was a tinny ringing in my ears, a numbness in my chest.
“Mew?”
For a single heartbeat, the sound didn’t register.
And then I pivoted and saw an ash-covered, trembling gray body struggle out of the rubble.
My knees gave way.
About the Creator
Kayla Maneen
Truthseeker. Storyteller. Heroine of my own adventure. I’m a study of contrasts—an ouroboros eating her own darkness to spit out the light. Pain and hope exist within us, reflected in our stories. Read a few that I’ve created for you.
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