The skies were dark and dismal, empty, devoid of life. The only sound that could be heard was the white noise of rushing wind across the barren landscape; buildings stood crooked, hunched and cracked, worn by the passing of time…their looming tops enveloped in a dirty mist.
The concrete that lined the grounds was coated with dust and dirt…the dust and dirt is all that remained of any life that was once here. Though a lone figure walks the landscape…fighting hard against the dangerous winds as they trek over the remains and rubble of whatever was once here; in what was once a city.
Skips held his head down, narrowing his eyes as the strong winds whipped against him, carrying with them dust and debris that stung as they grazed against his tired body.
The yeti had his hands clasped at his chest; as if whatever he was holding there he was hanging onto it for dear life, as if whatever he was holding there was a last hope.
'It's okay, Benson,' Skips says in a hushed voice…barely heard as a whisper in the crying winds that he battled with. He says it into his clasped hands…a lone tear rolls down Skips' stinging face, and he has to bite down on his lip to stop himself from screaming out that name…over and over like he had before. Each day that passed he was further from those memories…those times when he had really felt alive. Each day that passed he felt more numb, like he was losing himself…he was. As he lost the memories of the one that he loved, the one that had been there in the past, Skips began to lose who he was.
It was a painfully slow process; time was dragging him away from the memories of his lover, like some form of torture…a slow suffering…
In his clasped hands is an amulet…it glows, a bright and beautiful colour, and it is a comforting warm to the touch.
Skips falls down onto his knees, alone as he is surrounded by the dust, rubble and biting winds, sobbing into his palms, tears staining the surface of the now dimming light of the amulet.