Prompt Writing #1 : Beaten Walls

Practice Writing

The entire city was in ruins. Streets were overrun with weeds and cracks running so deep it resembled the Grand Canyon. Bricks were stained black from thr polluted air, glass scattering the sidewalks and was even swept up into the wind in the form of a fine powder. Some buildings were still standing strong, us in the buildings as crutches, while others had fallen long before, leaving only a square of cement and a few bricks.
The group of weary travellers looked upon one of the few suburban homes, examining the blood stained door knob with great sorrow but also great relief. Any walls, even if missing half a wall and the ceiling caved in on the left side, were better than no walls at all. The man in the group scanned the street quickly before leading a young woman and a small child to the doorway. He swung it open and ushered them inside.
"Quickly, quickly," he whispered before joining them inside. "Its almost night... they'll be out soon." His amber eyes glanced down at the young boy, identical eyes gleaming back at him above a red, dirt stained bandana that covered his mouth and nose. A mop of black hair curled around the boys ears and covers the five-year-old's forehead.
"Jesus, go set our bags in the corner, ok, son?" the man whispered as he swung a small backpack off his shoulder and put it in Jesus' tiny, dirt covered hands. He smiled then ran to the corner and put the backpackers against opposite walls.
The older man sighed, racking his hand through his dusty brown curls. He glanced around the living room, noting the couch and small wooden coffee table that had been snapped in half.
"Dahlila, help me move this couch to the corner. It's almost night out and I don't want to be moving when they come out."
"Yes, Papa," she whispered, her voice airy and delicate. They took opposite ends of the couch and pushed it forward across the blood-stained carpet. The man groaned as they nestled it against the walls, creating a small triangle of space in the corner.