There’s a certain sound that dying cities make – a groaning, shadowed emptiness, punctuated by the shriek of shattering glass-sheets or the rumble of a skyscraper’s collapse. You can feel it.
She’s not here. I go through the breathing exercises, three seconds in, four seconds out. Calm down.
Mummy, where are you?
I forage through the empty habitation blocks – long-life food and pharmaceuticals. A heavy winter coat.
The monorail line stretches out at my feet, stretches on, to the next suburb, to the horizon. Is that a real place?
I’ll find out.
The heavy, metallic footsteps clank on the tracks.
We’ll find her.
Written for this week’s SciFriday prompt. What’s SciFriday? Click the link, write a story!
I also used some of this week’s BeKindReWrite prompts: Breathing Exercise and Is that a real place?
Let me know what you think!