Brianna Mcalister

The Household of Terrace Hill

Highlands of Apollo, U.L.O.P. (The United Land of The People), November 2086 It was cold. She could feel it seeping into her bones. She inhaled the damp, icy air. It stung her nose and made her throat tighten and ache. She scrunched her body more tightly together and wrapped her arms around herself drawing her thick shaw closer. It was morning already. She dreaded the day. She could sense the touch of sunlight on her face, and hear the utterly cheerful birds screeching outside her window. They were making her aware that it was time to get up. She squinted her eyes wishing for just a few more hours of sleep. She would have to let more people go today. She couldn’t help them anymore. She couldn’t protect them. She had nothing to offer. No place. No home. No position.