Desperate Times Presents: Prose from the Wasteland

The Light

"Send me solace!" He cried; naked and alone - he walked - in the dark
- not knowing where he was - or how his legs were suddenly functioning

His miraculously cured paralysis did not astound him as much as the destruction laid out before him.

The skyline was gone.

Only rubble and rock, dust and ash remained.

He walked...

The clouds rained scarlet tears - He sought shelter and wept; and decided that he would gladly trade his newfound mobility for the world he knew

The air reaked of sulfur

The Old Man's chest pounded and he grimaced

The man fell; and he watched his knee cry the same scarlet tears as the clouds

The man walked on.

The man called out to any that would listen;

"Am I not worth being heard?!" He cursed his maker.

Sulfur seemed to filled his lungs... the Man could not breathe.

The man fell a second time; and remembered cigarettes.
Coffee; the Man remembered the smell. He remembered donuts.
The man remembered his life and cried.

"I miss you"

And a voice seemed to acknowledge his declaration.
The Old Man sighed and wished for light.
He knelt and closed his eyes.
The sun came out - and as the radiation burned away his skin and muscle tissue, the man smiled his last.


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