This is a short story I did for a writing completion here in a Goodreads group. I came in 2nd. Enjoy!

“Graying Morality”

In the remnants of what was once a bustling metropolis, Mark trudged through the debris-strewn streets, his heart pounding with every step. His daughter, Peyton, walked beside him, her small hand clutching Mark's trembling fingers. The world they knew had collapsed under the weight of overpopulation and economic ruin.

The once-thriving city had become a wasteland, a shadow of its former self. Mark, in contrast, held onto his principles, a moral compass in a world gone feral.

Peyton's epilepsy was becoming more dangerous with each passing day. She had not taken any of her medication for weeks. Mark feared for his daughter's life; she might well be on edge for a seizure. The medication that kept the seizures at bay had become increasingly hard to find. She took Tegretol, so one box lasted months, given her age and size. He hid his concern from her, but it was growing into a red-hot ember.

They wandered through the desolate streets, past dilapidated buildings and rusted cars, searching for any sign of hope. Mark's heart sank with each empty pharmacy and abandoned clinic they encountered. He had heard rumors of a stash of medications hidden in the depths of the city, a last resort for those desperate enough to risk it all.

As night fell, they found themselves in the heart of the city's underworld, a lawless territory ruled by violence and fear. Mark clenched his jaw, steeling himself for what he knew he must do. He had always believed in the sanctity of life, but his daughter's desperate need had pushed him to the edge of his morality. He found a place off the trodden path for them to sleep that night.

There would be no fire here, he told his daughter. Being silent and unseen was their only defense. Throughout the night, he slept very little, hearing sounds of movement, perhaps human or animal, all around.

Finally, dawn came with new hope, as light hit Mark's eyes, he was reinvigorated to find what Peyton needed. He woke her up; she had slept soundly as ever, feeling safe with her father. He was glad he had been able to preserve her innocence and his own even in this world. Still, in his gut, he was uneasy as he prepared breakfast for them. After eating, they restarted their search.

Soon they approached a dimly lit alleyway, where a shadowy figure lurked in the darkness like a vulture waiting for their prey. Mark's heart raced as he stepped forward, his hand instinctively reaching for the makeshift weapon tucked into his belt.

The figure emerged from the shadows, his face obscured by a tattered hood. Mark could feel the weight of his gaze, assessing him with a cold, calculating stare.

"I need medication for my daughter," Mark said, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and desperation.

"What type of medication does the little girl need?" the figure replied in a sinister tone.

"Tegretol, she is epileptic," Mark responded, trying to speak clearly.

The figure nodded slowly, his lips curling into a cruel smile. "I have that," he replied, his voice dripping with malice. "But I can't part with it. Boss man needs it, and we won’t trade it."

Mark lost his composure, breaking down, he was crying. "Please, she is only seven," he pleaded.

The hooded figure turned from them and headed back into the shadows. "No!" he snapped.

Mark's heart sank as he realized the futility of his efforts. He had nothing left to offer, no bargaining chip to sway the cruel hand of fate. But then, in the depths of his despair, something inside him shifted. A primal instinct, long suppressed by his moral convictions, surged to the surface with a ferocity he had never known.

Without hesitation, Mark lunged forward, his makeshift weapon glinting in the dim light. The figure recoiled in shock as Mark's blade found its target, plunging deep into his chest with a sickening thud. As life drained from the figure's eyes, Mark felt a wave of numbness wash over him. He had crossed a line he could never uncross, a threshold from which there was no return. His daughter had witnessed it all.

But in that moment, as he gathered the precious medication in his trembling hands, he knew that he would do it all again in a heartbeat to save his daughter.

They made their way back through the deserted streets, Peyton's hand clasped tightly in Mark's strong grasp. The weight of his actions hung heavy in his heart; a silent reminder of the sacrifice made to survive in a world consumed by chaos.

Now running, Mark picked up his daughter. They could hear feet running after them. He ducked into this or that building, holding his hand over her mouth, watching in horror as others ran by.

Many hooded figures were now on the street, yelling, "We will find you!"

After a long amount of time sneaking in and out of alleys and buildings, they made it out. But as they reached the safety of their makeshift shelter, Mark felt a flicker of something new stirring within him. It was a primal instinct, born of desperation and fueled by love—a willingness to do whatever it took to protect what mattered most to him in the world.

As he looked into Peyton's eyes, he knew he would carry that burden forever, wondering what kind of father he was becoming and why the medication was so fiercely guarded. In a world devoid of hope.