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Fiction Section: A World Worth Saving

Waking up to an unfamiliar place is never a fun experience; especially when you live in such a desolate place. With heavy eyes and a pounding headache, I look around at the broken down house that I was put in. The roof – or what was left of it – provided some shade from the sun outside while the stained and dirty walls prevented the wind and whatever was outside from coming in.

From my position on the floor, I can feel the creaking of the decrepit house and the vibrations that were caused by the footsteps of whoever was currently roaming the house.

Trying to make as little noise as possible, I roll on my side and slowly start to rise. Pushing the black, unruly mess that I call hair out of my face, I notice that someone had bandaged my hand and forearm where I had gotten sliced by broken glass from a fight that happened a couple of days ago. On closer inspection, I realized that they – whoever they were – had also tried scrubbing the layer of dirt off of the exposed parts of my skin. I can almost make out the original tan pigment. Alright, this is just getting creepy, I think as I look around for the supplies that I know I have from the day before. So maybe they aren’t as nice as the bandages make them seem, I reflect while surveying the room.

There’s no trace of my backpack or any of my weapons. Besides an old couch, a rug and a boarded-up window, there was nothing besides the door leading to my captors. I contemplate about making a break for it, but there was always the chance that there were others outside. Plus, I’d be defenseless without any of my stuff. I’d just get dragged right back.

What happened last night? Where was my camp? More importantly, I wonder as panic begins to set in, where was my brother, Ollie?  The floorboards creak as I sift my weight, freezing and silently cursing myself, I hear the footsteps stop. As I hear the footsteps start again, this time moving closer to the room I was in, I quickly stand up. Looking around once more, I’m unable to find any sort of weapon. (Can’t exactly lift a couch, now can you, Violet?)  Moving into a fighting stance, I wait for whoever or whatever is on the other side of the door. If this world, this ruined, burnt, wasteland of a world has taught me anything, it would be to continue the fight until you stopped breathing all together – And that was exactly what I plan to do.