Living on Writer's Block

Hey, guys, just a quick one this time — a recommendation, find the song ‘Strange Young World’ by Ranya & Hidden Citizens while you read this one. Three lines out of that song inspired this brief little scene.

Flames licked broodingly over the shattered remains of the town as we walked by. 

Broken bodies and stones littered the ground, but the road before us was clear. 

Other figures emerged beside us, joining us as we marched through the fire. They appeared behind walls of orange flames, and filtered closer to our small army. But everyone kept their distance from each other. None of use was closer to anyone else than ten feet. 

The flames swept across the road, fluttering before our eyes and vanishing into the air again like orange silk handkerchiefs flicking away on the wind. 

The sounds of our feet were muffled on the silent dirt road, but the steps of our mob became rhythmic and even, an army’s synced pace that reechoed softly off whatever structure was left of the ruins. 

We glanced around at each other, as one, and as one, we sped up. 

We ran through the fire, through the flaming streets, our speed growing as we went further and as the flames got higher. 

We ran out of the city.