The city is a sprawling labyrinth of ash and steel, its skyline serrated like teeth of a beast. The air tastes metallic, laced with the faint bitterness of decay, and the sun is nothing more than a memory, hidden behind a veil of perpetual smog. 

People move like shadows, their faces drawn and pale, they shuffle through the streets that shout promises of salvation through obedience. Consume. Conform. Continue. The slogans echo endlessly, their glow cast a sickly light on the crumbling facades of abandoned buildings. 

Beneath the city’s surface, resistance brews like a storm on the horizon. The whispers of rebellion are faint but persistent, “where can we find light in this never-ending shade?” 

But dreams are dangerous in this world. Hope is a spark, and sparks can ignite. The regime fears the fire, and so it smothers every ember it can find. 

 

 

 

Photo credits: Selective Focus Photo of Road by Misael Garcia, Pexels. 

Merril hosts at dVerse and invites us to write inspired by a line from “The Hill We Climb” by
Amanda Gorman. Come join us! 💜

Posted for Prosery Monday @dVerse Poets Pub