Escape

Set in a post-apocalyptic Britain, the girl thinks she is the only human left alive after 'The Collapse'. Alone, with only her faithful dog for company, the girl's current world is a black-and-white version of her previous life- dull and empty. Until, one day, she discovers something. Something impossible. "Imagine a world. An empty world. You need to escape. Escape for your friends. Escape for your family. Escape for your life." This is a story I am working on, hopefully to be the first in a trilogy. Its fantasy/science-fiction and was inspired by random things, but I suppose it has similar things to The Hunger Games & Harry Potter. Please don't hate, this is my first story on here, please just give constructive critiscm, thanks for reading :)

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1. My Windowsill

  

 

I've never been alone before, not really. I suppose very few people have. But sitting here, on my windowsill which is peeling like burnt skin, staring out at the ghost town that once used to be a bustling city centre, I feel more alone than ever. I used to sit here, on my windowsill, before it happened, and watch the swallows soar and sing, dip and dive and cut through the air as if they were weightless. They would balance on the thinnest branches without even so much as a teeter, then leap of into the breeze and be taken with it effortlessly.

 

 

I suppose it's lucky that I am such a light sleeper. Everyone else was fast asleep, when it happened, tucked up safely in bed, absorbed in dreams and nightmares, while I was sitting on the old swing in my back garden hoping the gentle movement would slowly rock me to sleep, like a lullaby. If everyone else had been such light sleepers, maybe it wouldn't have happened. Maybe they'd still be here, and I wouldn't be so alone. If they were still here, perhaps I wouldn't lie in bed at night for endless hours, my mind screaming to be free and flying, like the swallows were.

 

Before, if I walked down the street, I'd be stopped every few metres by a bike darting past or someone calling my name and waving. The shops would be bursting with colourful, intriguing items that beckoned to be bought. Now if I walk down the street, the shops lie closed and empty, leaning over miserably as if to whisper a very important secret.

 

Now, if you look out from my windowsill across the vast, barren landscape that I once called home, you'd find it very hard to lock your eyes onto something alive and happy. Even the swallows have gone now; everything has. Except me, sitting here on my windowsill.

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