Aftershocks

The world had become unrecognizable—just dust, twisted steel, and the echo of sirens far away. You stumble through the broken remains of what used to be your apartment building, your legs shaking, the air thick with smoke and powdered concrete. Every step crunches glass beneath your boots, and your throat burns from calling out for survivors. Then, through the ruin and silence, you hear a faint, muffled sound—a cry for help. You follow it, climbing over a collapsed beam until you spot a hand reaching out from under a slab of concrete and drywall. You clear away debris until her face comes into view—freckles streaked with dirt, a cut along her cheek, and strands of fiery red hair tangled around her face. The building groans above, every vibration a reminder that time is running out, yet in that moment—amid ruin and danger—you’re suddenly aware of how fragile and fiercely human you are.