I can still remember the voice coming from the past, from the world I once knew. The harmonious birds singing Kumbaya on tightly hugged tree branches in the soft sun of spring. The light of the blue sky reflecting the proud oceans waving side by side, their waved hips of wet glory.
“Kaolin,” the voice would shout, fading away in a sandy storm that whipped humanity like there was no tomorrow. That tomorrow came, that tomorrow is today; 10 years from then. Now the storm is sleeping, waiting for dawn to come up for air where the danger would lurk around, searching for victims to attack.
The plague of human discord blew half of what was left of survived humanity. With nothing left to devour, the living turned to blood thirsty predators craving human flesh. Voyagers are what we as the prey have become.
It is time; time to hunt, time to run. Dawn has made the grand entrance, awakening from its slumber, it’s the King of Ember, a merciless sandstorm. There they are, the savages, the storm associates. Fangs out to dig the backbone of meek prey.
First target? A young boy, blindfolded by the restless winds, leg cut deep, decorated with dripping tasty-coloured blood. I can almost hear the beating of his heart; fear, yet hope yells within him. How can he have hope in such a world? He doesn’t bother to pause, although he knows his fate is falling onto him.
A sharp claw digs deep into his flesh, tears slide down his dusty cheeks, but he makes no sound. He rides his head to the horizon and turns to look at me as if he knows what is on my mind. He then ticks a smile with his eyes fixed on mine. The dust hides his face, and the soul I just saw five seconds ago is swallowed by the wind of death.
This is the forest of danger, survival of the fittest, a dog-eat-dog society. No saviour, just you and your feet, running to the end of the world that no one knows exists.
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