Aurora 2025 with cover

Kay Shae

buildings crumble down quickly. She tries to cover her face with the sleeve of her torn outfit as the soot pours over her, swirling around her ankles like midnight tidepools. The air burns my eyes as she slowly peeks them open, tears forming as the ash falls onto her face. You need something to cover your face! Panicking thoughts pour in as she looks down at her torn outfit. The once brilliant reds and flying gold cranes match the sky, which is dark and sorrowful, covered in the ashes of her city and her crimson blood. The bottom of her outfit is torn just enough to rip a decent portion off, barely covering her face from the soot. She hears the faint popping of the fabric as she tears it, her heart breaking as she pulls. Knowing this can never be mended. You cannot cry. Looking at the torn fragment, her heart is shattered. Tying it around her face as tight as possible, she flinches as loose strands of her raven hair are caught in the knot. The faint sounds of the sirens go off around the city as she starts to regain her hearing. Touching the tips of her ears, she feels a thick, viscous liquid at the sides of her head. Looking at her fingers, blood-stained, she hopes that it is just a head wound and nothing serious. The cries of mothers, fathers, and children can barely be heard, but she knows the city has suffered a significant loss as she stumbles down the mess of what was the street. This is not the place for tears. This nightmare is not yet over. The adrenaline is wearing off. Struggling to keep her footing, she stops in her tracks. The baker’s shop sits in the middle of the road and caved in, blocking all passages around it.

33