Dystopian
Nichole
She thought back to the waiting room. So long ago when she had made the decision to let death chase her. And chase it had, through the underground, through prophecy, through the wars, she watched the eastern coast burn as they ran. She ran, death at her heals… dancing with her… sometimes so close, it whispered in her ear. And now, it chased her across the water. She felt the ship sway and she starred back at the woman in the mirror. Her hair was streaked white, pulled back in the worn clip. She didn’t remember getting old, it just kind of happened. And just as she couldn’t see how incredibly gorgeous she was in her youth, she couldn’t see how distinguished she was in her age. She held the cloth to her mouth as she coughed. When she first got sick, she hid it well… But the cough became uncontrollable, and the rumors spread like the disease in her body. At least the black handkerchief hid the blood. She took a shuttering breath and turned on her heel. Long ago she shed the poised dresses for more practical clothing. If you plan to outrun death… Her tight black leggings hugged her still muscular legs. But her curves had been lost to the disease. She concealed the loose skin beneath a tunic of blood red and wore a slightly heeled leather boot. Her two guards flanked her as she exited her quarters. Her assistant sat with the wheelchair. She moved too slowly now, too unsteady on the rock of the ship to walk. They maneuvered through the narrow corridor and out onto the deck where the sun beat down mercilessly. She was greeted with the cheers that broke her heart and lifted her spirits. Here were her people, who loved her. Her people, who were half starved, beaten, but not broken. Here were her people she loved. The prophetess came and knelt before her. She raised her eyes to Nichole and gave her a tearful little smile. Nichole returned the smile. Brushing her hands across the young girl’s cheek. “None of that. Tomorrow, we land in the forgotten place and the people need you.”
By Maili Paul2 years ago in Chapters
Snow Humps, continued. Content Warning.
The last thing I remembered was trying to open my eyes and imagining the Buzzard pecking at me and tugging me while staring me down with his beady eyes. I slapped at him, trying to shoo him away, but he was persistent, yanking and pulling at me, lifting me out of the snow drift with his tremendous strength.
By Tina D'Angelo2 years ago in Chapters





