Daily Prompts, Writing

Daily Prompt #7

The dank smell of the city permeated my senses. The co-mingling of blood, urine, and coal the only scents to reach my nose for months. I remembered the days outside The Wall. Ma always baked a cake, at least once a week, and pa came home smelling like sweet grass.

My nails dug into my palm as I moved on, past the words that were all too familiar. I joined the resistance for similar lofty goals, and perhaps another faction had written the words to recruit others like me. Naive, scared, and searching for hope, we’re too easy to spot.

Now, those words filled me with dread. I hadn’t eaten anything but gruel in months and I wouldn’t eat anything different tonight.

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