Write the opening paragraphs of a short post-apocalyptic story about a young girl and her trekking across hostile terrain on their way to seek shelter in a safe place. Focus on describing their physical sensations and make it seem miserable. Write in the first person past tense, like the protagonist is looking back on the story in hindsight. 
We were on foot. The path was muddy from a recent thunderstorm, so it was slow going. It was always slow going for one reason or another, but that day especially. Blood had been spilled, but worse still, we were thirsty--it was hot, and water was more scarce than we’d expected. Even after the rain, all that we’d collected from the sky wouldn’t be drinkable till we could filter and boil it. I was sweating, frustrated to be wearing what had once been my favorite buttercup yellow dress, now that my thighs were chafing against each other with every step.
 
It was early afternoon, and the silence seemed to be in conspiracy with the sun overhead. At least in the morning, there were songbirds to distract us from our discomfort. Now there was nothing but the sound of our labored breaths, measuring every step, reminding us simultaneously of how far we’d already come and how much further we had left to go. The wet soppy earth seemed to grab at the soles of our shoes, unwilling to let them go. 

We’d been walking for over a week. My feet were starting to blister. But we were more than halfway there. That’s what my mother kept reminding me, to make sure I wasn’t losing steam or giving up hope. We took side streets instead of the jammed public transitways and shortcuts through gardens and backyards, scaling picket fences and camping in treehouses and garages when we could. My mother said we should only scavenge in the smaller, unassuming houses, especially those that looked like they’d already been ransacked.  She worried we’d run into trouble in larger houses or grocery stores or hospitals--human trouble, the nature of which I was only beginning to understand.