Sugar Dierown

Bad Air

This world isn’t great, but we manage. Somehow, I mean. Manage. Me and my family. My grandparents like to show me pictures of how the world used to be, so different from what it is now. Blue skies, clouds that came and went, flourishing flora and fauna, breathable air. Can you imagine? But those are all things that used to be. It’s not like that now. The sky is usually a blood red from the fires that burn from the Rebellion that happened all over, but it can be a sickly pale yellow when the fire season is over. That’s when the dust and debris that constantly floats in the air is much easier to see. But with how dirty the air looks all the time, even on good days, I sometimes prefer the blood red sky. At least it lets me pretend. A little. As much as one could, anyway, in this dystopian world.