Fantasy Fiction Short Story - Dust City

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This is a terrible story, about a story we don't even know.
We know that the world ended, but whether from nuclear bombs or zombies we are not quite sure.

What we are sure of is that it ended, and that generations later, we are what's left.

The world is being rebuilt. But not in the way it was, but in the way some of us think it was.
There are a few elite cities run by those who think they knew.

And then the outsiders, those of us, that know we don't know anything.

Then, there is magick.
Yes I know, you think it's that mystical thing that conjurers up spells that wizards used. But actually it is a bit of dust, faerie dust, so to speak

And magick, makes the world work. It makes all those things that still go bump in the night, not see us. It means that we are safe if we take regular doses of it.

That's where the problem comes in. Very few can see magick and when we see it we collect it during our travels, but the elites want magick so their lives can continue to improve and we, those precious few who see magick are their tickets.

The mystics they call us, and they send those to find us.
Magick has a few unexpected benefits if mystics use it, and those are very interesting.

I am Anna, and I am a mystic, as is my son. We travel, we hide and we try live a life away from the cities.

But now they have heard of us and they are coming.