They could barely breathe for grief and sadness as the ferry pulled away from the ruins of the once great city. They were the last to leave, the last of the millions that had fled east, west, north and south, some carrying suitcases bulging with banknotes, others, penniless.
Hank turned to Betty, “How can this be, how could this happen? Only three years ago all was well. How could God forsake us like this?”
Back on land atop a tall building, a thickset man with fake tan and corn-coloured fly-away hair stood ranting at disconnected microphones and cameras.
Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields‘ weekly 100 word challenge.