Beyond the ruins

The cities had not fallen all at once. It was a slow unraveling, a death marked by the groans of collapsing buildings and the dimming of streetlights that had once guided millions. What had started as whispers of corruption grew into a cacophony of despair as those in power sold the future for personal gain. Promises of prosperity turned to ash, and the American Dream became a cruel jest, muttered bitterly by those who still remembered its meaning.

Skyscrapers, once symbols of human ambition, now jutted into the sky like broken teeth. Their shattered windows caught the dim sunlight, reflecting a fractured world back upon itself. The streets below were cluttered with debris—abandoned cars rusting where they had stalled in endless traffic jams, belongings strewn across the ground like relics of a failed exodus. Nature, indifferent to human suffering, began reclaiming the ruins, sending vines and weeds to crawl over everything man had built.

The dead far outnumbered the living. First came the hunger, then the plagues, and finally, the violence. Communities turned on themselves as resources dwindled, and the thin veneer of civility was stripped away. Those who survived bore the scars, both visible and unseen, of what they had witnessed and done. Starvation hollowed their bodies, and despair carved deep lines into their faces.

Each day was a test of endurance. Survivors scavenged endlessly, sifting through the wreckage of grocery stores and overturned delivery trucks, hoping to find a can of food that hadn’t been looted or spoiled. Water was even harder to come by; streams were polluted, and wells had run dry. Children, if they were lucky enough to still exist, were gaunt and silent, their laughter a memory too distant to recall.

When the sun set, the world grew even darker—literally and figuratively. The nights belonged to the predators, both human and animal. Fires burned in the distance, signals of groups too dangerous to approach. The strong preyed on the weak, and alliances crumbled under the weight of distrust. No one spoke of hope anymore; it had died long before the food ran out.

The air itself seemed heavy with defeat. The wind carried the faint echoes of life that used to be—laughter from parks, music from bustling streets, the hum of a thousand engines. Now, there was only the sound of rustling leaves, the occasional cry of a scavenger, and the distant rumble of collapsing structures.

Far beyond the ruins, the landscape was no more forgiving. Forests and plains stretched endlessly, dotted with the skeletons of small towns and the remains of forgotten highways. The future, once a beacon drawing humanity forward, was now an unyielding void. Survival was not a promise but a curse, a slow, agonizing existence in a world that seemed to beg for an end.

In the hearts of the remaining few, a cold realization took root: humanity’s best days were not just behind them—they were erased, reduced to dust and memory. The future was not merely bleak. It was non-existent, a void where no dreams could take root, and no hope could grow.