They say Armageddon struck 50 years ago. While by looking at the debris, the crumbling buildings, and the complete and utter stillness on the once bustling road I could believe them, the fact of the matter is that people are still here. I am still here. As I stroll through the stagnant silence, no real destination in mind, I look around at whatever particular section of the Fallen City that I have ended up in today. Mostly blue- and gray- stone buildings, all which now stand no more than 30 feet tall, with the occasional pile of broken glass or dented metal sheets coming from who knows what at this point. However, in general the structures here seem to be more intact. I decide to look inside one of them.
Dust that hadn’t been disturbed since it was created 50 years ago was sent swirling into the air like stirred up sand does in water, suddenly becoming voluminous and demanding attention by my lungs. I cough slightly, then pull a rag from my pack and wrap it around my nose and mouth. I survey the dark expanse of a large room, with several narrow hallways whose walls did not reach the ceiling. No, wait… those aren’t walls, they’re bookshelves.
“Ah, yes,” I gasp, most likely the first words I’ve spoken today. I immediately head to the first aisle, then the second, and all the way to the last aisle, grabbing books at random and stuffing them inside my pack. The last aisle is filled with cobwebs and debris. The roof had shattered slightly above this area, letting in some sunlight veiled by thin gray clouds. At the end of the aisle, there is a door leading to another room. I pick my way through the chunks of the roof and squeeze through the cracked door, not daring to move it lest the structure of the entire other room fail.
(Yeah... this one I barely got through anything at all in.)