The Doom

Originally written for 52storeys.com. A sci-fi thriller short story.

The trailing fabric of my coat flutters sporadically as my aching legs carry us away from doom. The tiredness wraps around my legs like a vine, tightening with each stride. I have used these legs for too long; this will be the last time. My companion, hard and mechanical, is held fast under my arm, its safety more important than mine, although totally dependent on my being there. I must stay alive so that it does. That injects something fresh into my muscles and I raise my head to face the oncoming breeze, allowing it to push against my eyes, water falling away from the cheekbones.

The streets of -usoBar- are bustling with the crowds of shoppers, ecstatic with the prospect of late afternoon shopping, many fresh from their beds, dressed in the latest fashions. The markets have been opened; the aromas of fruit, perfumes and freshly made clothes begin to dance around me, filling the air. Ahead the giant screens, embedded within the marble walls of the Great Hall of Trade, welcome the people in with pleasant, joyful music. I begin to face resistance in the crowd, the numbers are increasing. Smiling faces turn towards me and suddenly change to shock as they evade my path. This is all I get; most continue on their way, the smiles swiftly returning. We are quick to forgive, the people of -usoBar-.