The streets lay abandoned, stretching out into infinity the skeletal remains of a once thriving city. Cracked asphalt was overrun by weeds, and the crumbling buildings cast long, ominous shadows in the fading light. Not a single car rumbled down the road. Not a voice called out in the distance. There was no hum of life, no sound of footsteps or distant laughter. Only the occasional whisper of the wind as it wound its way through the hollow shells of what were once homes and storefronts.
The silence was deafening. It pressed in on every side, as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for something—anything—to break the stillness. But nothing ever did. Society had collapsed, and with it went the pulse of the cities. They were no longer safe, no longer a place for the living. People had either fled or perished, leaving behind only the ghost of a nation that had failed, the promise of freedom and prosperity buried beneath the weight of its own corruption and chaos.
The void was unbearable, a chilling reminder of what had once been. The American dream, that fragile idea, had died with the fall. Now, only ruins remained—silent, still, and forgotten. The dream had slipped through the cracks, lost in the quiet, left to rot along with the decaying streets that no one walked anymore.
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