Two

This is a continuation of the small short story One with a different voice.

Two

I somehow survived the fire, the hell-rain that fell upon the world. The wind howled, spreading the destruction. I managed to hide when the fallout occurred; what I hid in barely held. Had it been a little longer, I would not be alive.

But once I had stepped out of my safe haven, I immediately wished I had died. When I stepped out from under my cover, I saw the pain. I still see it now, all I see is the pain that my world has suffered and will continue to suffer. For how long, I don’t know.

I look around in utter disbelief. I see no human and no creature. The sky is red and the earth is burned. I grab my head and squeeze, attempting to make any sense of what has just occurred, shutting my eyes and hoping it is simply a dream. I look around once again and the reality sinks in. I feel my hair fall; as I run my hands across my scalp, all of my hair falls off.

I walk in this wasteland, this fallout zone of nuclear toxicity. I see nothing but ruin. No human or creature. I am the last human on this desolate land.

I am the last human alive.

The Sixth Trumpet

The Sixth Trumpet

 

The fair creature stood on the rock,

Gazing down upon the chaotic land,

Waiting to start the end.

 

Its fair hair blows in the air,

Soaking in the pain and terror,

Waiting to unleash utter hell.

 

It raises its bow and draws,

The blood tipped arrow prepared

To draw the blood of the innocent and corrupt.

 

The string is taunt and screaming

To be released and to bring death

And let rivers run the streets.

 

The fair creature releases the arrow

And it sails to its prey,

Blowing the sixth trumpet of apocalypse.