Arle Santineau-Wager

Doomsday Diary Challenge

As Eona knelt on the cracked tile of the long decaying courthouse, with the morning sunlight leaking in through every opening it could find in the walls and roof acting like miniature spotlights, she could feel the jagged edges nearly piercing her skin. The barrel of a rusty, outdated .357, slowly inches toward her sweat-beaded forehead. She could barely catch her breath after being chased by a lone Rover for countless city blocks, which now mimic a dense forest invaded by the crumbling architecture of men long forgotten.