At the end of the world (short story) - Writers Forum

Duvodas · 06-22-2007, 08:50 PM

Just put some thoughts together and came up with this. Tell me what you think.

* * *

He was lost. A world of shadows and death, the land that had been so fertile, now incinerated, devoid of life and joy. Bones and rotting flesh jutting from the earth, the screams and pleas of the dying still dancing in the wind, carrying the devious melody of death. Devastation.

And he was alone. Desolation, consuming every part of his being, of his soul. Fear building inside, giving way to rage, for having survived to contemplate this horrific fate was his curse. He wished he could be dead, too. Dead as the people whose bones now lay on the ground. Wished his bones could also be part of the earth, scattered here and there. But he was alive. And in the mist of all suffering, he realized an excruciating truth.

He had been left…to witness.

Bystander of destruction, the child’s eyes watered, a tear slowly making its way down through the cheek, dropping to the ground where it was lost forever. His fragile limbs gave way, and he crumbled to the ground, a grey cloud of ashes raising in his wake, then falling over his small body. Surrounded by putrefaction, the child’s nostrils filled with the odor of the dead, of those who will never come back. His lungs avidly screamed for fresh, cleaner air. Yet…there was…nothing.

Suffering and agony were the only things left in this world. A whole world consumed by the ambitions of his dwellers, by the destructive power of their desires and corrupted dreams. Savaged by those who thought that mere mortals could become gods and control the fate of those who surrounded them.

His innocence had been lost in the longing for death, yet his body claimed life. Salvation. A return to existence. He knew he couldn’t die, wouldn’t die; for the gods wouldn’t let him fall into the everlasting dream. They had chosen him to witness the fate of humanity, to absorb with his eyes their wrath and, eventually, to live in the mist of their limited mercy. Thus, he had survived.

Thus. His curse.

The child slowly rose to his feet, mud covering his figure, clothes torn and ragged. A shiver, sudden coldness. His feet padded the earth reluctantly, uneasily, testing it. Then more firmly, as if surer of his steps. And so he began walking.

His destination was unknown, yet his feet wouldn’t stop moving now, as if an unseeing force pushed his steps even as his feet were torn by sharp, jutting bones from the earth, his blood mixing with the remains of humankind.

The child felt the pain surging through his body, but he couldn’t stop. He thought that a new purpose had been set by the gods for him now. He would witness…everything.

He walked for days, days becoming months, months years, never stopping. And he witnessed. His eyes consumed what was left of humanity, all the misery, the destruction. When hungry, he would eat anything he found; when thirsty, he would drink from his own urine. He had to pee as he walked and defecate on his pants. Even as he fell to the ground by the loss of blood, he would not die. Cursed…for all eternity.

Then, a sudden revelation: the gods were not done with their vengeance.

The gods wouldn’t let him die…