She sits there; hugging her knees to
her chest, her head hung low. Her eyes were shut tightly, her lips quivering as
tears flowed endlessly and as strongly as the storm roaring on. Her body was
trembling as it shook with the intensity of her emotions that’s threatening to
rip her apart there and then. She knows that she was not confined in any space,
that there was enough air for her to breathe. Yet she felt like with every
breath she took, every sob, she’s running out of oxygen.
That was when she felt it.
The first touch of gentleness, something that she has not felt in a long while. A hand
placed on her shoulder, soothing and calming. She raised her head, her eyes
catching on to his and to the rest of them. Her friends, her comrades that had
surrounded and formed a protective circle around her. Each of them silent,
their eyes forgiving and filled with understanding.
She wiped her tears as she stood up, stumbling
and held on by him. The storm seemed relentless and it was clear that the
battle ahead would not be easy. But one thing was clear, the battle is not yet
over.
the feels to write a post-apocalyptic story is strong. Maybe a female warrior in a war stricken country?
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