A constant thought arises with each new sun

By: Will Schwarz
Everything was supposed to die. Such desolate
surroundings and dismal weather only add to my ongoing
weariness. Foul remainders of mans existence have
haunted my vision for what I fear is eternity. Time
has been forgotten, every day like the last. Hope for
survival abandoned me on the first glimpse at the real
price of progress. It seems to me that the sun never
truly rises here, in fact, its more like some of the
shadows dim into a sate of immobile paleness.
The gloomy wind carries but 2 notes: The prolonged
hollow gusty breath of a barren crypt, and the faint
sound of some life, perhaps a tale by the imagination,
or that life had recently been here. Such depravity
has been created by what now remains. A quiet call
whispered amongst the darkened alleys and forgotten
buildings for another revolution. The feeling of
revenge is blood lusted by the call of an uprising
against the life wandering in, with its own life. A
mass of what used to be, and what now exists, creates
a putrid and fetid example of existence.
Sad tales forcibly moan from the rooftops to the
streets and the stars as night draws near. Slow
currents of air carry the scent of an intruder to the
empty valleys and the hungry cities. The buildings
themselves are cognizant of the change, and have begun
to adapt to their own nightmarish environment. Each
time a bullet leaves the barrel, and leaves its mark
upon the world, the darkness spreads; each time a
being succumbs to the silence, an uncertain
malevolence prevails.
It is my poignant destiny to protect mankind from the
horrors and the ghosts it created. Such truth would
render unspeakable revulsion among those that need not
be worried. Governments spend vast amount of
resources to keep the silent silent. The call for my
survival has only been impeded by the progress I am
making, as the closer I become to finding out how and
why, the closer I become to my own demise. There is
something out there; the air is heavy with its
whimpering madness, and its uncanny resolve. In the
darkness such impractical beasts have sprung, each
more vicious, and more terrible than the last, strain
my body for some sort of comfort, some sort of iron
will against what awaits me around the next bend.
I abandoned myself a long time ago, only to serve as
a lasting remainder at what a man and a gun can
achieve.
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