I decided to make one the writing prompts, this one is

BEFORE

thats all, before, however you decide to decide to interpret that, I’ll be on a trip for a couple days, but I’ll read all of your stories when I get back (except for the ones with swearing) and even add my own, can’t wait to see your ideas

The caravan traveled slowly beneath the blazing wasteland sun, fifteen wagons made of scrap and hand-pulled by starving laborers. The caravan masters, wearing the red-and-white insignia of some forgotten nation, walked next to the laborers and made sure they didn't slow down or stop. Each one wielded a prod of some sort, long metal devices scavenged from the ruins with various different shapes. At the front and back, the most dangerous of them marched proudly: guards, wearing real Kevlar armor, carrying rifles. A caravan didn't have this many guards if it didn't carry something of great value.

Tags adjusted her binoculars, narrowing in on the guards in the back. They watched all the wagons with a vigilant eye, but seemed to fix the most attention on one in particular: a cart with three wheels, covered in faded, pinkish cloth. "Third from back," she said. "The pink one."

"Are you sure?" her sister Wink asked, wiping dust off her goggles. "We only get one shot at this. They're getting close to the canyon."

"Positive." Tags licked her lips. "How much water d'you think we'll get from this relic? It's got to be at least five bottles each, right? We can survive for a week off that if we're lucky."

"Shh, Tags." Wink motioned toward the guards. "They have good hearing under those helmets. Come on, let's go to the spot."

The girls ducked behind their hiding place, a crumbling wall, looked each other in the eyes, and let out a silent sigh of relief. Tags took the lead, bounding on all fours like a rabbit to the next wall she could hide behind. They moved like that for another hundred yards, darting from cover to cover in quick bursts, until they reached an immense canyon formed by two giant heaps of rubble. The road passed right between the two mounds, a shaded reprieve for travelers in this desolate part.

They slipped between two broken pieces of concrete, a small gap that barely accommodated their skinny bodies. An even smaller gap gave them a view of the road, and it was in this way that the sisters saw the first carts of the caravan pass. Sweat beaded on the laborers' hot, red skin, and the caravan masters gathered it on rags, unwilling to waste precious water. The man pulling the second cart screamed in frustration and received a hard whack for his trouble. "Silly," Wink whispered. "They know complaining won't do them any good. They care more about expressing their emotions than staying safe."

"But you always complain when it's our turn to sleep out on the stony ridge," Tags pointed out, "even though that doesn't change anyone's mind about it."

"Shh." The caravan advanced farther into the canyon, the sisters holding their breath patiently. When the third wagon from back crossed right in front of their hiding place, Wink produced a button from her pouch and pressed it with a wicked grin.

They had spent the last few days rigging the rubble with firecrackers, those miraculous objects from the Before World that created flashes of noise and color. Now, all of them exploded at once, throwing a haze of dust and smoke across the road. Guards grabbed their weapons and looked around in a panic, searching for the source of the noise. Four of the laborers took advantage of the chaos, dropping their wagons and running, only to be caught by a pair of caravan masters with small, flat-tipped prods.

"Quick, Tags," hissed Wink. "Before the smoke clears."

Tags didn't need to be told twice. She leaped into action, moving quietly and low to the ground. The acrid smoke stung her eyes and nose. She held a scrap of cloth over her face, which made breathing bearable, if not enjoyable. She had memorized the layout of the caravan after watching it for so long. The wagon with the relic was exactly where she expected it to be. It loomed in the smoke, just a dark shape, as she reached out and snagged the faded cloth from the top. Beneath it was a single box, shiny and black, about two or three times as long as a bottle of water. The laborer pulling the wagon, an old man with a dangling brown beard, looked directly at her.

Crap. Tags tossed the cloth aside and stared into his sunken eyes. He looked like a rule follower, someone who had known this life for so long that he couldn't imagine anything else. You won't tell on me, will you?

The laborer rasped something low from his ragged throat, something she couldn't understand. He took the box from his wagon and placed it into her hands. Something like a smile crossed his face as he waved her on, telling her to run.

"Thank you," she said out loud, fixing the image of the old man in her mind. She hoped she would never forget this kindness. Then she ran, skidding in the dust until she rounded the back of the rubble mound unnoticed.

She showed Wink the black box, which was heavier than it looked. Her sister nodded proudly, and then they set off together, making the short trek across the wasteland to Tadpole's hideout.

"What do you think it is?" she asked, carrying it reverently beneath her arm. "A firecracker? A weapon from the Before World?"

"I think it's five bottles of water each," Wink answered, and that was the end of that.

When they reached the hideout, around dusk that night, the other survivors crowded around them and demanded to hear the story of their daring caravan robbery. Wink brushed them off, giving short one-word answers to their many questions, focused only on getting to the central shelter.

Tadpole, the hairless man who led the settlement, pushed his way out of the shelter and inspected the box. Tags held it out to him, allowing him to unlatch and open it.

A collective gasp came from the survivors as they finally saw the relic within, resting on a bed of matted blue velvet. It was a wooden thing, carved with swirling patterns and holes, with four pieces of wire attached to the top and center. A second, narrower wooden thing lay next to it. It was by far the strangest relic Tags had ever seen, and she had no idea what it could be used for. "What... is it?" she asked Tadpole, giddy with anticipation.

"Something from the Before World," he answered, as if she didn't already know that. "Something wonderful." As if in a trance, he took the two wooden relics from the box and held one in each hand, placing the larger one next to his chin and sliding the smaller one across it. A sound came from it, loud and terrible and beautiful. He continued to move the smaller thing, cascading more sounds against each other in pleasant ways. It reminded her of water. It reminded her of love, the mythical powerful kind from the Before Times. She thought of the laborer with the brown beard, and she wondered where he had come from and where he was going. Perhaps she had given him a little bit of courage, a little bit of human connection that made his life worth continuing. Perhaps this strange noise could give that to everyone in the settlement.

It sounds like hope, she thought in a sudden flash.

"Ten bottles of water," said Tadpole, putting the relics down for a moment. "Each. You've earned it."