text: [Themes: sci-fi, post-apocalyptic, war]
  
  Your mother calls you down to dinner, she's made her famous lasagne. Well, it's famous to you.
  
  As you walk down the stairs, you feel the warmth of the kitchen and your mother's love embrace you. Your family are sitting at the table waiting for you. Mother, wearing a blue checked blouse and jeans, complete with an apron. You're lucky, you think, as you see how beautiful she is, the image of you. Her dark curls are scooped up into an untidy bun, and gleaming blue eyes gaze at you from her pale, flawless face where her sweetheart lips are curved into a smile. Your dad is seated next to her, distinguished with his ash blonde hair and moustache, tinged with grey at the corners, like ash at the edge of a burning picture. His kind and crinkled brown eyes smile at you. Your little sister Jennette is seated with him, her caramel hair swinging in a straight line near her shoulders, and her crisp blue eyes blink innocently. Your mother pats the chair next to her.
  
  "Come on Esme, it'll get cold; we've been waiting for you."
  
  You sit and enjoy your meal.
  
  [Author's Note: The world, or at least England, has started to go down hill. A bad government party got into power, left the country in a mess, and no one was re-elected because it was a hung parliament. Coalition was refused and now there is no one in charge. And now, all sorts of things are going on: fights breaking out in cities between rival gangs with opposing views on how to sort this all, hyperinflation, and we've been booted out of Europe, so no help there. One gang, the only peaceful gang in the country, is determined to survive, and gather followers. Many people are as yet undecided as to who they follow, and this new group 'Sanity' want to influence them. Every day on the streets is a battle. The group are in hiding at nights, like most people, because now all police are corrupt. They beat people in the streets if they don't think the same way as them. There is no room for fear; you need to be tough. Will you survive?]
  
  > Five years later
  You're up late. Why?
  
  > Went out with your friends
  It had been the fortnightly girls' night out, and boy had you been looking forward to it!
  
  An all night party, going from pub to pub, nightclub to nightclub, and police car to home. Yes, you were charged with being drunk and disorderly.
  
  You will remember your mother's face forever. Her once-flawless face was creased with worry, her placid eyes tearful and her perfect chestnut curls now frazzled and streaked with grey. As the police officer handed you over to your frowning father, he sighed.
  
  "She was found looking through bins, 'trying to find her friends and her sandwich' she said. We found the friends, they said she was having far too much, then wandered off. They tried to find her but couldn't so they eventually gave up. We're not pressing charges."
  
  "Thank you officer." your father also sighs as he takes you inside and closes the door on the outside world to deal with you. Your mother, now crying, examines you, touching her face and your clothes. Your jacket is ripped and ragged, your makeup smudged, your hair ravaged by the wind and your activities. You can't remember anything about what you did tonight.
  
  Is this usual behaviour for you?
  
  > Yeah! Why shouldn't you get drunk? YOLO!
  You expect your father to shout, your mother to weep and ask you why, like last time, and the time before, and the million and one before that. But your parents are strangely silent. Of course your mother cries, but her usual silent, hopeful tears are gone, replaced by angry sobs. She grabs your jacket and pulls you close to her, asking you why you've done this over and over and over again.
  
  "What did you do? What have you done tonight? Why this, why again? Why are you doing this to us?"
  
  You can't stand it as your lovely mother grinds her teeth and chokes on her tears. Your father shakes her off of you, and you await his yells and warnings and threats. None come. He is resigned, silent, sad. For a moment it seems that he may speak, but no, he breathes only to hold back his tears of shame, of failure in raising you to be upstanding and kind and...and normal.
  
  "Go to bed, Esme. Just go."
  
  You have an epiphany as you stumble upstairs, into the bathroom, and look in the mirror. Your parents, your own parents, can't stand to look at you. Such a disappointment to them that they cry whenever they see you. This isn't a nice thought, let alone a realisation.
  
  Are you going to change?
  
  > Yes! What have you done?
  You tell your parents that you will change, and they seem relieved and supportive of you.
  
  After attending Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and getting away from the bad crowd you'd fallen in with, you're soon on the road to recovery.
  
  > Straight and Narrow
  You're good of heart and you love your family, Esme Levinson. You like talking to your mother, going shopping with her, cooking. You have your disputes, sure, but because of your close bond everything gets sorted easily. You get your intelligence from her.
  
  You get along great with your dad. Often joking, teasing your mother, and listening to music together, you can tell him things that you don't feel comfortable talking to your mum about. He's firm with you, but it's helped you to become responsible and you've got all of your ambition from him.
  
  Your sister drives you crazy, but that's just because she's your sister. As she's only two years younger than you, Jennette often proves herself as a good companion and confidante.
  
  Your family bond is strong, but it's also made you innocent to most things. You've had a sheltered life.
  
  You're intelligent and have a good unit of friends that help support you through thick and thin.
  
  You're pretty. You have your mother's chestnut curls, that bounce at your chin, not to mention her button nose and a dusting of freckles that you picked up from your maternal grandmother. Your father's kind eyes peep out from a fringe of sooty lashes, and your big smile also comes from him.
  
  You're not overly tough, because of your sheltered upbringing, but you can cook, clean, sew, and be a mother in general.
  
  The future will hit you hardest of all because of this.
  
  > One Year On...
  Darting from wreck to wreck, you look over your shoulder constantly. There are plenty of places to hide in this wasteland that used to be your home; that is good news for you, yes, but also for your attackers. Any minute a rival gang could appear to injure or kill you. Everyone knows who you are now. You are one of the peaceful ones. You are part of Sanity. For now your main aim is to get to the base without getting killed first. Only one way to do that, and that is to leg it. Past the smashed up shops and abandoned houses, the potential attackers.
  You have been pretty lucky so far, no one has pursued you. That is about to change.
  A huge guy, three times your size if he's an inch. His menacing grin terrifies you, but what strikes most fear into your heart are his arms. Tattoos of the sign of Dragon People, a rival group famed for violence, cover those muscular trunks.
  
  What will you do?
  
  > flirt with him. He might spare you.
  The rogue frowns as you bat your eyelashes and purse your lips. "Please don't hurt me. I could never take on such a strong man...I'll do anything sir." He gets your meaning after a second, and his yellow grin returns. "Deal." Without warning his pushes you roughly against the wall and smothers your mouth with his. His rancid breath threatens to burn you, but to stay alive you don't resist. So he kisses you? A small price for your life.
  
  Soon you have new problems. He grabs your trousers and tries to pull them down. You know all too well what he has in mind.
  
  > fight him off. This has gone too far. Head butt him.
  Kneeing the massive guy in the groin, you watch with glee as he doubles over and you retrieve your knife from your sock. With one quick move you stab him in the side and dart out of the way, hissing 'Timber!' under your breath.
  
  You run swiftly back to base.
  
  > BASE
  The walls are still standing, just barely, just enough to hide the hole in the corner that leads to the passage, that leads to the basement. It's a bad part of town, but shelter is decent for a night or two, as long as it isn't raining, for a family looking for somewhere to sleep.
  
  You can just crawl through the passage into Sanity's base, if you avoid the fingers of wood and metal that grasp at your clothes. Get through fast before the dust stings your eyes and chokes you.
  
  The rooms are primitive, with just a few chairs, a table, a toilet, a bathtub, a few cushions, a tap, and a basic stove. Some blankets replace beds, though someone managed to grab a mattress from somewhere. Half-walls separate some parts into 'rooms'.
  
  It's probably a good thing that Chris, leader of this branch of Sanity, found you on the way home. He got some bread, stale, from somewhere, and makes you some toast.
  
  > learn more about Chris
  You'd found Sanity through an old friend who'd signed you up and introduced you to Chris.
  
  After performing the secret knock, Chris had opened the door, and for a moment you could only stare at him. His high and chiseled cheek bones were ivory, elfin, with just a light circular blush. His hair, straight and short at the sides and longer, slightly curled at the top, was ebony, contrasting with his skin. Ice blue eyes stared from under a fringe of long black lashes, his nose molded to perfection and delicate, and his defined cupids bow sitting atop a full lower lip.
  
  "Get in." he grasped your arm and pulled you and your friend into the base. "Make no noise."
  
  And you didn't. You were entranced completely as he shut the door above that you'd just been pulled through by his muscular arms.
  
  Over the next few weeks you get to know Chris better. He's an orphan from up North, no siblings, no family. The only original member of Sanity left, he enjoys sports but also likes reading, and was a good pupil at school. Despite his sporting prowess he was bullied at school, never exactly a ladies' man, even branded 'geek', 'nerd' and 'outcast'. This was mainly because of his weight, which he struggled with in his younger years. It's obvious that this isn't a problem now, as you discovered when...
  
  > Walked in on him in the bath
  You were never one to knock before entering unless you heard something. The bathroom was quiet, you needed to retrieve your hair brush, one of the few things you'd salvaged from your house before everything happened and your life was ruined.
  
  The second you opened the door, you heard an irritated shout of "Hey!" and saw Chris, lathering up in the tub. His face displayed irritation as you stood there staring at his bare torso. Six pack. Pecs. Smooth, porcelain skin rippling over his muscles perfectly, black curled hairs spread across his chest evenly. Wow. Nice.
  
  "Do you mind? I'm a little busy here." he seems pensive, understandably.
  
  > leave him to his bath silently
  One quick nod and you're gone, wondering if the rest of his body is as magnificent as his torso. An interesting thought, one that you ponder for days. Neither of you speak of the incident again.
  
  > Next
  You find yourself thinking of home, your family.
  
  The 'government' had adopted a new policy: survival of the fittest. They'd drop random bombs and whoever got out got the live. They thought this would help, for some reason. More food for those who could deal with the hell they inflicted, more jobs, more money. It was a ridiculous idea, the country was devastated, whole families left grieving. But that would never happen to you, would it?
  
  When the first bomb hit your house, you'd been in the middle of an average family dinner. Your mum had made vegetable soup, you'd the same meal for weeks, all you could afford on your father's petty salary, cut by two thirds of what it once was. Prices had quadrupled in a year, so food wasn't readily available- in fact it still isn't.
  
  But you were happy together. Jennette had managed to finish her last set of exams before the school closed, and had taken a job as a secretary in one of the last remaining office buildings, working for a pittance but doing her bit.
  
  You were a waitress back then. The restaurant you worked in used to be one of the most exclusive ones in town. Now it was the only one in town, serving burgers and hotdogs. You hated to see it this way. The only waitress there was you, most days it was just you, the cook, and perhaps a couple of customers. The manager was now the cook. The atmosphere of the place made you sad; it was once so beautiful, swanky, now reduced to a hovel, a shell of its former self.
  
  You'd been chatting happily with your family, all things considered, when you heard a whistling sound, followed by a deafening crash followed by screams. Ground shaking, your father instinctively yelled for all of you to get under the stairs. They did, you didn't. Behind you your mother was screaming hysterically for you to get back, Jennette was crying your name, your father just watched you. He knew you wouldn't go without a good reason.
  
  You had talked about the depression with your friends for months, there was little else to talk about, and had made a plan to meet as soon as anything substantial happened.
  
  In your books a bomb was substantial.
  
  Your friends obviously agreed, they were waiting for you by the petrol station toilets, crying with relief at seeing you sprinting, unhurt. One of them was missing.
  
  "Where's Caitlin?"
  
  Mel looked to Charlotte, hoping she would explain, lip trembling. Charlotte looked to Ally, willing her to speak. Ally looked to you, tears in her eyes.
  
  "I don't know. W-we don't know, Esme. She just isn't here."
  
  The pain in your gut felt like a knife. No, Caitlin was the strong one, she kept you all sane. She couldn't just be gone, no. Not Caitlin. Caitlin with her inside jokes and impressions so bad they were almost good, Caitlin with her quiet intelligence and boisterous manner, Caitlin with her infectious laugh and consoling hugs. 'Not Caitlin,' you'd said to yourself, 'Not her.' Ever the level-headed one, Charlotte spoke up.
  
  "We have to split up like we agreed. Caitlin's as tough as old boots, it's too dangerous to go and look for her. Remember, we're making our way to Dover as soon as possible, and we'll tough it out until everyone's there. If we wait more than a month, anyone there has to go. You know what to do."
  
  All of you put your hands in the middle, and you looked around at the almost complete circle of friends in front of you, blinking away the beads of salty tears that were gathering fast behind your eyes.
  
  "Mel, Charlotte, Ally, I just want you to know, before we go..."
  
  Your friends were misty eyed as they paused to look at you. It seemed silent despite the sounds of chaos that were echoing around you.
  
  "...if you're late to Dover, I'm gonna flipping murder you."
  
  All of you laughed bitterly and had a quick group hug, even Charlotte, often joked to be allergic to emotion. Then you went your separate ways, unsure if you'd ever see each other again.
  
  That was a year ago.
  
  > Decision time
  It's been a year since you promised to meet your friends in Dover as soon as possible. You have to decide: will you stay or will you go?
  
  If you stay, you'll have to rough it out here at Sanity HQ. You've made a few friends but it's dangerous, you're under threat every day. Although if you do stay, you'll have a place to call your own if the country ever gets back on its feet.
  
  Is it worth it?
  
  If you go to Dover, you'll hopefully be reunited with all of your old friends, and you should be able to carry out the rest of your plan: to get to the safe shores of France on the next boat. There's a crossing every now and then, usually about once a month (hence why you and your friends agreed to stay for a month and then get on the next boat with whoever was there) that you should be able to afford. For months you've saved up meager amounts, some that you brought from your old waitressing job at home, and then added to it. Most of the money was stolen (you found that your stealth made you a good pickpocket) and some earned from selling bits and pieces from your personal possessions. If you do try to make it to Dover you could get attacked on the way there, and even if you do get there your friends will probably not be there and there's no guarantee of catching a boat. But even then, your life there won't be much different from here. You've adapted, you can survive there, but you won't have the support of Sanity, and maybe not even your friends.
  
  Is it worth it?
  
  What will you choose?
  
  > You're going to stay.
  You have made friends here. Sure it's dangerous, but her you have some kind of stability. A new start would be far too risky; what if you can't get a boat out? You'd be in a new town, possibly friendless. If your friends were there they most likely won't be any more. If they ever got there in the first place. You wish them well. Hopefully they're safe, and you feel relatively safe here.
  
  That's all that matters in the end.
  
  Right, forgive me for asking Esme, but does a certain dark haired boy have any reason for you staying? What's his name...Chris?
  
  > Yeah, you're good friends. You like being with him. He's a mate.
  Deciding to stay was artery good decision. Sure you never see your family or old friends again, but you make new ones and they become your family.
  
  You climb through Sanity's ranks quickly, and by the age of thirty you're on par with Chris, joint leaders of your branch. You've remained close friends with him throughout the years.
  
  Despite your friends you always wonder what your life could have been like, had you gone to Dover to seek your friends and perhaps found your family. You remain single all of your life.
  
  One day, at the age of 42, when out on your hunting duties, you encounter trouble. Rough living has taken its toll on you. Tough as nails and strong as an ox, battle hardened, you fight well and hard, but when your opponent pulls out her gun you know it's over. Your skills are sharp as ever but age is not your friend in this world. You hold your head up and die with dignity.
  
  Congratulations, you achieved an average ending.