My eyes have fallen, like the sky...

1 - The Faintest Recollection​

The sky was a fiery red in her dreams. Only the moon, full and bright, showed her that the stars were still out there. In this dream, her body ached with tremendous pain, and her hands were unable to clutch anything or anyone around her. Family, loved ones, friends and neighbors: Each vanished within the red flames that shrouded about her vision.

It was not long until she was all alone. Her hands singed by the fire, her soul frozen by the great loss. She could no longer recognize what clothes she had been wearing, for they were black from the smoke and ash that filled the air. At the end of this dream, this nightmare, she could have sworn she was the last on Earth. Nothing could contradict this feeling, this emptiness, for she stood alone atop the rubble and debri - seeing no one in the fiery hell that was once the pride of modern civilization.

Her dream had ended. Now, she was awake, conscious in a world altogether different. This place had no boundaries and no limitations. It was the great Pheonix that had risen from the ashes of her dreams. Her eyes could once again gaze into the clear night sky, for there were no more cities to hide the stars.

It was this little moment, among so many others, that brought her lips to smile again.

2-The Ashes Have Cooled, but the Embers Still Burn

And she was there among the lights of a closed past,
One we could never again return to.
One we would never again yearn for,
I turned my back and she was gone,
Like the end of a dream,
Lost in time and memory.

His aging lungs burned as his chest lied in pressure across a concrete floor. Awakening with a violent cough, he sat upright. His body heaved and tensed itself, as some old engine may do in order to start running again. One leg to the left, the next. A push. All right. Now he's up.

Sleepy eyes guided him to the window. Outside: Rolling hills, most uncommonly barren of all vegetation. In the distance he could make out large clouds of dust - and within the blur of brown rolled a dozen vehicles.

"An early start." He murmured, slipping a shirt over himself and darting down the decayed stairs of an old home.

(to be continued)

 

Very well written.

 

The Barren Lands stretches for miles around the North-Eastern coasts. He had been there for some time now, living off the land and obtaining whatever proved useful. No one dared approach the cities. They had been bellowed down by the fiery breath of war. Now, all that stood were black crooked metallic beams, twisted and wrenched into crippled appearances. Rock and rubble stretched for miles, and not one living thing could be seen - not even the insects, the birds, the plants that would normally enjoy such an absence of human life dared set their living in such a place.

The descent had occurred in a matter of a day. The final slip to end it all. Now, all that was left of humanity were wandering bands of those looking to survive, those looking to clutch the remnants of power, and those in search of death.

He was one who had simply lived. His past was erased, his future non-existant - only now was where he dwelt. Only now. What more could he do? His memories were gone. His loved were nowhere - perhaps they too vanished in the purifying flames of destiny? Mankind was soon to breath its last, he thought, as his lungs struggled to release life again into the bloodstream. Many a night had he pondered thoughts like these, and sometimes he wished that his lungs would simply let him eternally slip away - into that void between dreams.

Now was not the time to dwell here in these dark thoughts. The trucks were rolling in, and with them the last of the tyrants. . .

3- Seeing From the Smoke​

The metal frames of the green trucks squeeled and clammered as they made their way down the dirt road. The dust had caused a haze all about them, and most of the occupants had lowered their weaponry in complatiency.

"The town is coming up shortly, sir!" Fired out a soldier to an apparent field officer. The truck rocked as it rolled across a bump in the road. "Take the men and search the homes." The officer replied, with a tone of complete neutrality. He stared out the open window of the passenger's seat, cigar in hand, legs up on the dashboard.

The truck breaks screeched terribly, taking a few moments to come to a complete stop. A dozen or so soldiers filed off, searching the homes in the immediate area. They soon returned - not with people, but belongings, items, canned foods and supplies. A handful of soldiers began to syphon the gasoline out of abandoned vehicles - taking extreme care to load them onto the trucks as quickly as possible. Oil had become a hot commodity in these times, and with it came power.

The regiment began to roll on again, and the dust soon clouded the air - just barely making visible the flag attached to one of the trucks. They flapped about in the wind - those colors of red, white and blue.

4- Through the Thick​

His legs carried him far and fast, as his build was still somewhat muscular. His clothes were worn, but fit snug and tightly around his body - resembling some sort of stealth suit. It was nothing fancy, nothing considered expensive, but it got him through quietly - and that was what was needed.

The branches stung his skin as he darted through the forest. They would not look here, and why would they? Their only interest was to plunder, eat up the remaining resources and remain in power. After the Great Fall, many nations became split into factions fighting for control. The United States was no different. There were three central factions: The first was the original government, struggling to re-stabilize itself through the military. The second was a split off from the military, and the third was a rather large settlement in the mountains of Montana. In between were wandering bands, and none could be trusted. Who was left of the honest? Who was left of the pure? If any remained, they could be found in the farming cities, formed far from the nuclear wastelands of the coasts.

(to be continued)

 

Any good?

 

very good!

 

5- Ghosts of Vision​

His eyes were taken by the river. The water sparkled and wavered as it rushed towards the bright morning sun. His mind became lost between the ripples, brought somewhere his body could not go.

The wind suddenly brushed through the quiet of the still forest, stirring the silence with a rustle of leaves. He sighed, closing his eyes and resting his body by the water's edge.

Her voice returned to him then. As if back from the dead, she spoke to him, and he was suddenly standing in a lost suburbia.

"When things do fall apart, Jeremy, I want you to know I will be by your side. Every moment."

In this suburbia, he smiled sincerely and held her hand.

"I know." He said.

"Let the towers fall and the buildings crash. Let the system crumble apart. It is time for a change."

"Yes." He spoke, barely audible.

"We are timeless, Jeremy. There is no reason to worry. It doesn't matter what happens to our bodies, we are forever."

And the two of them watched, like the countless days before, the sun set over a rooftops of a gridlock neighborhood.

The trees seemed to be waiting, gently, patiently, doing as they have always done. They knew, somehow, that things would change. He could always feel it in the air.

Suddenly, he returned to the river.

He turned his head over the soft grass. She was not there, yet her presence lingered. He could feel her in the forest's pulse.

Slowly, surely, he pulled his aging body to his feet, and wandered up the river.

 

Beckoning Doorways​

The sun crept up slowly in the fall sky. The clouds were out of reach now, distant and vast, seemingly in the very outer reaches of our atmosphere. The air was becoming cool, and the sun's burning light lost its flare against bare skin. Soon, all the leaves were to wither. Soon, all the life that crawled through the thick and flew through the air would disappear.

A truck rocked back and forth over the cracks and crevices on a road long neglected. The tires were losing their air, the engine needed an oil change, and the hood was rusting away rapidly. A good choice to drive in these days. You couldn't get much better.

Jeremy did his best to avoid the larger bumps. He weaved through the country roads and headed west. Far from the cities, far from the military. At least, as far as he could get. It wouldn't be long now. Winter was coming, and the raiders would be frantic for as much oil, food and supplies as they could get.

His lungs ached terribly with each passing breath. He shouldn't have ran.

Keep your pace next time. How many times do I have to remind you? He scolded himself.

A few minutes passed, and soon it was too much. He had to stop. It was time to rest.

At this rate, you'll never make it far enough west. They'll catch you. They'll have you. They know who you are and what you've done. It doesn't matter if you're solo now. They'll want your head. The attacks seemed never to end until he laid his body down against the blacktop of a driveway. There were no cars, just bushes and trees overgrown, shrouding over the house. It seemed that in a matter of years, most suburbs would be eaten up by the returning forests.

He didn't mind. As a boy, he had looked over maps and maps of each county, examining the complexity of roads and suburbs. "There's too many" he used to say, "too many of us for the rest of the world to grow."

Destiny, time, nature, God - whatever you want to call it . . . Sure fixed that problem. He thought.

 

well done , expecialy for someone so young. your writing reminds me of the old deetective novels I read when i was kid. keep posting

 

On the Rainy Fields of the Broken Nation​

Her pace was steady, like the mist that floated down from the heavens. Never once did she stop to rest. Never once did she grasp her canteen and press it to her lips. The mist was cool and refreshing, and there was no need to drink the precious water at her side.​

Her thoughts fluttered back for an instant. Images of supermarkets with long rows of bottled water flew through her mind. Showers. Washing hands. Washing dishes, washing clothes. All these things she took for granted. All these things were now so very difficult to achieve.​

She would near those lands, now. The ones where water was still fresh and pure. Yes, and the rain would come again and again. As it always had done, before the first of our kind struck two stones together. She wondered if, one day, she would see the spirits of the Native Americans returning to the grassy plains of the midwest. ​

They would be spirits, she thought, for ghosts were locked in the past. ​

"They are like myself," her lips parted, casting these words to the wind, "alive forever in what can never truly die, but always be reborn."

The quiet road slithered to the left and then back to the right, a serpentine guide to the edges of the world.

(to be continued... )​

 

Sorry folks, I've been busy. This should start to pick up now. Just keep me informed with your thoughts/feelings.

 

It's flowing beautifully so far, Burn.

 

The wind grew stronger with each passing breath. Barrels of leaves tumbled off their branches and scattered across the roads. There would be no one to sweep the leaves away, and so in a week or two the roads would be hidden under a carpet of yellow, orange and red hues.

Jeremy's truck ached and groaned as it rolled over branches and twigs, potholes and cracks. It seemed as if the truck was forcing every crank and lever within its engine to squeeze out another few feet, and then another.

He'd gone a few miles since his last resting spot. A little closer to the destination. The air was soon to become frigid, but that was no problem. He had become accustomed to scrounging for food, to making warmth for himself. This would be nothing but a rough storm before spring, and he would trudge through it.

Just like the ships at sea do not set anchor in a storm, I will not wait for this to blow over.

Suddenly, a loud metallic 'clap' vibrated throughout the truck, and smoke began to filter through the rusty holes in the hood. Jeremy pushed hard on the brakes, swirving up onto a curb and knocking over a faded white fence.

The truck came to a stop, and he hopped out quickly, giving the side of the truck a good punch.

He growled into the open air . . .

"It was bound to happen." He stated clearly, and then, as if nothing had happened, walked quietly away from smoking truck. What was there to do? He was no mechanic, and not a soul within a thousand miles with the resources to get the truck running again. It was time to walk on.

(to be continued)

 

Demon in the Sky​

The quiet sky was soon torn by a fiery howl. Flames burst from over the treetops, sending Jeremy to the ground. Flaming bits of dried leaves fell all around him, burning his skin where it was bare.

He scrambled to his feet and rushed for cover beside an old car.

The roar again.

"Jets?"

More fire bellowed in the distance. And between the threads of smoke he could see a silver jet, its slender form spearing through the sky. Long had it been since he had seen them. The last time they had streaked through the sky was . . . say, five years at least? Where did they find the resources do to that? We haven't had that sort of abundance of gas since . . .

The ground began to tremble as missiles hit, sending clouds of fire shooting into the sky.

What the hell is going on?!

The fire seemed to be everywhere. Every tree and branch crumbled to the ground in the blast of flame and heat. Houses collapsed as the shockwaves tore through.

He kept low, now crawled beneath the car. It was the only thing between him and Hell.

Then, suddenly, it stopped. No more jets. No more explosions. The ground stopped trembling. All that could be heard was the quiet burning of all things around him.

He remained there for some time, fearful of a falling tree. His mind raced for possible explanations. Why? Who? Wasn't this a waste of firepower?

His lungs filled with the passing clouds of smoke and ash. With each breath taken, he felt as if every thread and vein were to tear. He waited, painfully. He watched in agony.

If you saw his eyes then and there, you would have been fooled. They were as fierce as the Hell that engulfed him. His body was broken, but his spirit could never be.

(to be continued)

 

Marvelous, Burn. Wonderful stuff.

 

Night has Fallen,​

And the corpses rise again,​

What cries we may hear,​

Echoes of the past,​

Not long forgotten,​

Soon to burn the flesh,​

Living embers, burn eternally.​

​

The city was on fire. It was the last of a tiny faction uprising in U.S. held-territory. West of the coastline, heading past the faded mountains of the northeast.

It was a different landscape. This place, though untouched by God's fiery breath of war, was littered with wandering bands fighting for power. It was in a strategic point. The cross roads of the living world. Many supplies routes were in this territory. A dangerous game to be played, but it had to go on. It was one of the places untouched by radioactivity, and thus its food and water were abundant and fresh.​

​

And stained by the blood of the living.​

​

​

 

She had left the hell to consume itself, in hopes to flee from war and pain.
She could feel the death in that land, she could feel it everywhere. The aggression and hatred still ran strong through the blood of man. Mother Earth had not yet cleansed her children of such destructive passion. The poison remained, and thus, the fire continued.

She had gone further west, following the forest and a river known to be fresh.
Had she remained on the road, she would have perhaps been engulfed in the flames of the blackened suburbs.

She would have perhaps found Jeremy there, but it was not time.

In lucid dreams she embraced him. He did not smile. He did not frown. His face was calm, lit by the morning sun and brought to life by the passing wind. A mountainscape, clear in her dreams. She would find this place, she thought, and he would be there.

 

I' m glad you're continuing this excellent story, and with the same professional calibre. Love it.

 

I ahve no time right now but after reading your first two posts I can't wait to read more...

 

The cold had at last set in. Chilling winds nipped at Jeremy's exposed face, forcing his eyes to squint and his cheeks to tense.

The horizon was blazing orange in the sunset, melding with the flames of the town in the shadows just below. He crept up a winding backroad that led to one of the corner's of the town. A place where the fire had not yet reached. There seemed to have been an entire bombing run across the neighborhood, and in the industrialized center. Ten and twenty story buildings smoldered and creaked as the fires consumed them, threatening to collapse them as the cold winter wind twisted around them.

There was shouting and gunfire in the distance. The night was setting in as he quickly made his way onto the streets. The shop signs across the strip malls were faded - so much so you could barely recognize the letters. A 7-11, a McDonalds, a Chinese food store; these things were from such a separate world, so distant in the past that he could hardly remember ever experiencing them as they were. Stepping into 7-11 for a . . . what was it? 99 cents Arizona Green Tea? That was a dream. A vague memory from a time that he was never sure actually happened.

What was true? The smashed windows and empty shelves, the dead vines and the decaying roof. He could sleep in there when it rained, he could hide in there in the presence of military. That was 7-11. He was sure of that. Had it been anything else was up to the dreamers to speculate.

His worn black boots carried him further up the road. The gunfire was becoming louder. Why had he wandered here? Food of course. Food . . . and curiousity. He wondered who was fighting now? Who attacked? Why? Was there another skirmish? Or was this a war? Understanding these things would determine his next plan of action. He had to think ahead now, for his own survival.

 

The wind began to howl, giving voice to the death that had once again swept across an Earth, already saturated in the blood of millions.

Clouds ran across the sky like a blanket to smother the fire, but the flames raged on, giving the night an eerie, red glow.

Snow soon began to fall. It started as a flurry, then began to get heavier. The gunfire did not stop. The occasional explosion forced the ground to tremble.

"The Earth is cold" he thought, "frozen and shocked."

He neared the battlefield: the town square. A circle of strip malls enclosing an open area. In the center were two tanks; one blown to pieces, the other consumed by the city fire. On the ground were bodies, so many bodies. He could not distinguish the uniform - there weren't too many uniforms in these days.

Quietly, he made his way around, snatching up a standard sidearm, the M9, and a pack of cigarettes. He didn't smoke much, but it was cold. Freezing.

He made his way into a building without a wall. It was blown open by shell fire.

"Quiet nights" he thought to himself. That's what these had been in his childhood.

He took out a match, lighting a cigarette and kneeling beside the opened wall.

The silence was shattered by the cocking of a weapon.

Jeremy quickly turned and raised the gun to point to . . . He couldn't see into the shadows.

He waited. Listened.

"Stand up." A voice said.

Jeremy rose slowly. Still silent. He could have said something. He would have. But it had been months at least since he'd spoken to another human being. It felt . . . odd to talk.

He could feel his heart begin to pound as adrenaline started to flow.

A creak. Another creak. The man in the shadows was walking. Still, Jeremy couldn't see him. . .

"Drop the gun." The man spoke again, his voice was raspy, probably from shouting throughout the battle.

Jeremy slowly leaned over, placing the gun on the floor.

Feeling safe, the man began to step forward into the intermittent light of the gunfire.