Dylan Rush
2016
It’s been four years since the last rainfall graced mother earth with its presence. Crops have withered away, wildlife has diminished, and the world has gone crazy with thirst. I have been scavenging for water wherever I could find it- abandoned homes, and from the rubble of burned out buildings mostly, but it’s never enough. My lips are constantly chapped, and my skin is as dry as a lizard. I try to drink just enough to survive, because I never know when my next score on a case of water is going to be. At a time when I should be celebrating my sweet sixteen, and dating boys- I am instead, dealing with the aftermath of a world without water. Dad had been talking to a few of the other survivors in our project, and they overheard a conversation with some military professionals, and the outlook looks bleak for those of us who have nothing to offer society. We are what the government refers to as “the filth of the human race.” With no degrees to our names, and no skills to offer- other than cleaning up after the rich- we were spared only for their pleasure, and then tossed out like an old toy when something better came along.
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