Girl, Determined

The low sky was filled with thick grey smog; deep orange highlighted the spaces where the cloud was thinner. I inhaled. The infected and musty air swirled into my lungs, irritating my throat. My frail mother, a shaking hand placed on my back, hurried me along the street.

Nowadays, seeing a person on the streets was a rare sight. Since The Disaster, the once bursting and lively street has been reduced to rubble and dwindling hopes. Sometimes, the man from number ninety-four would scurry along, as rat-like as the contaminated rodents that scratched around after the night had set in.

As we walked along, I looked up into a neighbour's house. If you were quick you could see a pale face peering around the blackened and cracked windowpanes. Bricks were heaped up against the front door, dark-green with hints of blue mould. Crippled ivy looped around the doorframe, forcing its way into the woodwork and clinging to the crumbling stone.

At the end of the road was our house, which we shared with the former residents of our road. We had built makeshift huts in our back garden for people who had lost their homes completely. We got food from the weekly airdrops; it was deemed to dangerous to enter on foot. We were allowed a small ration of this food each. It was often stale or rotten by the time it reached us, but we still ate it; it was the only thing we had.

I climbed the steps the rotting front door and pushed it open with both hands. The smell of damp engulfed me as I stepped over the threshold and clumps of ash were pumped into the air as I continued onto the carpet. As I passed through, I traced my hands on the familiar wallpaper before placing my hands on the shiny doorknob to the kitchen. I twisted it, listening to the scratching of...

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...d had picked up as I placed my tin down and got up. I was calmed but inspired by the rapid growth of this thought of leaving, after nurturing it from a tiny seed. I had to slow my excited pace down as I too made my way back to my hut.

I lit the ceiling lamp with a disfigured match that was on the table. I reached over and grabbed my dirty rucksack and stuffed it with things I thought I may need; a spare t-shirt, a flask for water and all my rations. I slung it over my shoulder, grabbed my penknife on the way out and clipped it to my belt loop.

As I walked away from our camp, over barbed wire and metal, I looked back with a feeling of sadness deep inside me. I thought of my mother. Would she cope without me, as well as coping with losing my father?

I turned my head forwards, towards what I knew was right. I felt like the future of the human race was in my hands.