I stand before you broken.
“Broken?” the voices inside my head scream.
I stand in a shallow grave, deeper it goes, the longer I live, so I cannot escape even if I wanted to.
“He cannot escape? Why not? Is he afraid?” the voices mock me.
A songbird flies above, gray skies wounding him each flap of his wings. Death will not come as he continues to fight for every inch he flies.
I am not alive, but I still breathe, eyes do not see but they continue to watch.
I feel I must scream but the voice is gone and still the mouth moves, words, whispers, and a cough.
“Is he insane?”
I stand on the edge, looking over, into the abyss before me.
The body stands and the mind screams, to jump, to fly, perchance, or not, either way you shall not know until you attempt said feat.
The wind cries out as well, its sharp bitter fingers scratching at my skin.
The cold bitter winter replaced by the Hell fire heat of summer.
Spring died a long time ago without a care by us.
I was young when the last spring was here, a beautiful day, a breeze coming off the sea, salty, refreshing.
That was so long ago, I cannot remember when with certainty.
Or was it just yesterday?
There seems to be no track of time, it may have left yesterday as well, if there was a track of time even then.
The seas have long given up in producing anything other than rot and disease.
The first wave hit in December, I do not remember the year.
It was the same year and day that my mother died, there in my arms. The boils exploding from her skin, and the vomit drained whatever hope she had.
And still I held her until the last breath escaped her cracked lips.
Waves after waves hit and the leaders, in their wisdom, left the Earth for their safety nets in space, “Arks” sent off to the deepest parts of space, to protect the best and the brightest, to continue humanity somewhere else.
What was the mistake we had made, the first point of destruction?
Was it our birth?
The scientists, the ones who remained, had no answers.
The argued over the dead, decaying ruins of society, picking apart the bones and pointing to the cause, but no one knew what had really happened.
After awhile, even the wars gave up and the soldiers wandered off to die in the fields.
Once great cities soon fell and the Tribes that became reality soon fell as well.
We were doomed from the start.
Even those who escaped on the Arks found themselves dying, as we all must do at some point in the equation.
The deaths moved quickly through the population, the birth rates slowed, stopping as whatever was happening killed off the ability to procreate.
Those who remained sat quietly in the dark.
They would have cried if they had the tears.
Their Mother, the one they abused for years, was now a hostile place. We, the Survivors, hide in caves, sheltered away from the heat, the acid rain that pours every day.
We scuttle outside when the sun disappears and the night gives some relief. We scour the ground, looking for anything to eat, most times finding nothing.
The animals are gone.
A few sparse mounds of weeds try to survive. The red earth that feeds their roots poisons them.
This is life now.
We are sorry now…