Ever since learning the harshest truths of this world, he had become numb. Business, conflicts, wars—all of it is just the matter of whoever's interest and greed is higher. The one whose drive for "everything" runs deeper than the black oceans of ash that litter the known world. Naive, Ignorant, Delusional as some might say —but to someone who lived during those times.
... Was he wrong?... In believing in a world that no longer had a chance to redeem itself.
…—
Under the bleak blood red skies, faint sizzles and crackles of smoldering ember and snow made out of ash. A place that was once called home by many.
—"Stop! Please. I have a child!"
—"There's more over here!"
A young boy walked through the streets, his lifeless eyes peering a thousand miles ahead to nowhere, with a gait so close to that of the dead walking his final throes to the grave than a boy.
—"Hurry it up! We don't have time."
—"AHHHHHHHHH!"
—"MOM!"
—"Deal with the children too. Leave no one."
—"The Lord of Sorrow and Grief demands it."
Rubble and debris from the destruction that passed littered the streets that the boy roamed. Snakes of smoke and ash slithered across the streets. The world was cruel, the boy's thoughts dove more and more into pessimism as he continued his death's march.
His eyes swam from here to there, the stench of burnt wood and flesh stung his nose and freshly dried and caked up blood stains that dyed the streets where he used to play
What's the point of a world where life does not matter.
Why was this world so cruel to those without the power or means to survive as one of the strong. His own little personal world. Violated. Destroyed. Gone.
The boy argued to himself on and on and on inside his mind, seemingly blinded to everything around him —or maybe it was his own way of escapism, to run away from the harsh truth that is… had happened to the bubble he called "the world" around him.
Hair —grayed out from the ash, Eyes unfocused, a deathly blank stare pasted on it. Gashes and wounds lay untreated. Blood was still rushing out from some smaller cuts, the lesser visible parts of the boy's skin was tattered with blue and purple bruises. One wouldn't even wonder why the young boy was trying to escape the truth.
—*sob* *sob* "Why? What did we do to deserve this."
—"God! Why did you abandon us?!"
It wasn't just long ago that this city was bustling with life with visitors from all over the world but like toys by those cruel players of fate and life, by the kinds and the gods, by fate and by order, Everyone he knew was left to die all with but just one word from these grand players.
The boy hated it.
—Living.
The farther he walked, the more unstable the boy's steps became —however, right now for him, walking was his only choice. He barely even knows where his destination is, just that he knows that if he stops something worse could happen to him. As his vision dimmed a bit from the smoke, he tripped on something hitting his head, cutting a wound open and yet still he got up and continued to walk. Deeper… deeper… into the heart of the smoldering city.
As the boy went deeper into the city, he could still hear the voices, the pleas of survival, the shrieks of death… the haunting whispers of the dead.
—""Remember us.""
He continued… until he couldn't… then he crawled —however with too much blood lost and smoke so dense clogging his lungs that he couldn't breathe.
Raising up his only remaining hand, The boy made his last plea to the ones that watch. To the one who creates. The one who writes and from a cruel twist of fate, like a king enjoying the suffering of his subjects. The boy could hear shouting, the gallops of horses and the clanking of metal approaching. He tried to mutter one last wish before passing out.
—kill me.