Fiction piece I wrote a year or so ago, before I learned so much! I may continue the story but I'm not sure where it'll go

My name is Lana. I destroyed the world.

I stand amidst the falling white grey ash falling around me. I am tempted to brush it away as it gathers on my skin, a reminder of what it was. I resist the urge, instead welcoming it, a prize for my accomplishment.

Flakes create fog around me, cascading in a blurry haze. I walk away from the still smoldering ruin that was a city, the heat of it stroking my back looking for comfort, for a reason why.

Maybe I regret it. Maybe none of it was deserved. Still I walk slowly into a cloud of soft destruction. My hands now empty, like my heart.

I was once happy. I thought I had everything I needed and that I could love the world with all my heart. I was betrayed. In return I ruined everything. What holds more power than a broken soul? All the energy of my broken self released into chaos and torment. Revenge.

I stop when I hear a voice. A figure is running toward me, from the piles of ash and stone.

“Hey!” the voice grows louder, rougher, angrier.

I turn and run. There shouldn’t be anyone left. How could there be?

“Wait, stop running!” A man.

I hear his heavy footsteps gaining on me. Fear pumps through my veins for the first time in over a year. A hand grabs my arm. I try to yank it free but it only grips harder causing me to lose balance. I tumble to the ground.

I yell as I awkwardly hit my left hip. The man falls on top of me, his elbow digging into my ribs pushing air out of my lungs and bruising my side. “Ughh,” I groan.

“Shit.” He doesn’t move so I have to shove him off. I stand quickly, blood rushes to my head but I refuse to wobble or fall again. He grabs me, pulling me down. I give up, there’s nothing to lose anyway.

“What happened?” He says.

What? He doesn’t know? He doesn’t know I did this…How could he?

To him I’m another survivor.

As the ash continues to fall, coating my throat again, making it hard to swallow, to breathe, I start to cry. I did this. I ruined it all. Selfish, greedy, hurt. I have nothing left. Nothing except this man, a man who will surely kill me once he finds out I did this.

I cry. On my hands and knees at the end of the world, with ash coating the entire inside of my being, breathing in the particles of everyone that just died, becoming one with the world. I sob for everything did and lost.

The man mistakes my pain and crying for grief, for the loss of our world. He hugs me without question and I sink into his arms, grateful. Still I am selfish.

© Ash Huntley