As she trudged through the desolate, barren wasteland, grey clouds of smoke billowed and writhed above her.

The smoke obscured her vision, and the acrid smell of burning filled her nose. For miles and miles, there was nothing but sand and smoke, and the oppressive weight of darkness and cold.

She stumbled forward, unsure of where she was going or what she was looking for. Every step seemed to lead her further into the thick, choking smoke. She tried to stay calm, tried to breathe shallowly, but the smoke only grew thicker, until she was almost blind.

Suddenly, there was a violent shaking beneath her feet. The ground rumbled and groaned, and jagged rocks shot up from the earth like teeth bared in anger. She tried to run, but her feet wouldn't cooperate, and she fell hard onto the unforgiving plain.

As she looked up, gasping for breath, she realized with a jolt that she was surrounded by stone. Nothing but stone, as far as the eye could see.

The smoke was still thick, but now it was mixed with a sense of foreboding, a sense that she was truly alone in this desolate wasteland.

What a dreary and desolate world we inhabit. And yet, the fault lies solely with us. We've made efforts to improve it by introducing technology, fighting against racism, and acquiring more material possessions. The world may have advanced, but it has become darker and more malevolent.

We've transformed into machines, relying on automation to perform tasks that humans have done for ages without complaint. All we think about is power and what benefits us. It's no surprise that things have turned out this way.

For a fleeting moment, Mary imagined the end of the world, where everything would cease to exist. The moon would become a dark void, the stars would fade into ashes, the rain would turn into rocks, and the warmth would turn frigidly cold. The colors would become gray, and hope would be lost. It was a depressing thought.

Amidst the heavy rain, a white pigeon struggled to survive. It fought fiercely, refusing to give up. It was the first time Mary had considered the bravery of a bird. She couldn't look away. Perhaps this is a sign. If the bird can survive, then I can also escape this illness that plagues me.

Gradually, the rain subsided, and the bird flew away joyfully. Mary stood there, motionless, realizing that there was still hope. "I will do it," she thought. "I will find a way to raise enough money to survive and live life to the fullest."