End of the Road
I face the skies, expression mirthless, alone in this hapless pile of scrap. Is it possible that, once in its long existence, it was a safe haven in which I once laughed, shared joys, pains, moments of meaning with others?
Again I look forward, the ghosts of the past fading, wavering, rising into my helpless brain once more. The skies are bare, lit by an explosion of blood as the sun hits the horizon, the line between light and dark.
Mists of sunlight filter through my imagination, blotting out, for moments, the empty, starless evening. Strains of musical laughter, which are no more real than the spirits that my parents used to speak of, string themselves into the weaving of the present. I try not to remember, but there they are, haunting me and taunting me, grinning and laughing, "where is your home now? Why has it forsaken you?"
Paths laid down, lush greenery, exotic and familiar, flank the cobblestone streets, trimmed and kept to perfection by bustling, meticulous neighbours; chatter full of friendliness and joyful togetherness, understanding; my home, as it was, before the terror began.
-
I stood at the end of the street on an evening like this, watching as the birds soared overhead, paper gliders with breath of their own, wings spread wide to welcome the slanting sunshine. At that moment in time, I never thought I would have to whisper it a goodbye, took in every falling shadow and rising morning call like a movie that would never end.
I smiled that day, to hear the bubbling laughter of the children, to feel myself in the embrace of the safety that ran down every street of my hometown. I strolled past wide glass-windowed cafeterias with a smile, watching as the men and women smiled, sipping their aromatic drinks in the name of comfort.
I watched as the sun sank through the smoky clouds in the evening, letting it whisk me away in a world of dreaming, of believing that nothing would ever, ever go wrong with my life.
That was the biggest mistake to make. Why didn't I see it then? Some things are inevitable; unrest was one, knowing the power and wealth in play at my homeland of Victoria Island.
-
I stared down the road once again, now cowering. Metal met metal, wood crumbled under the sheer, burning force of Meso Explosions. Claws of dark magic raked through every street, taking every human they could find.
Thunder shook the branches, not the thunder of forgiving nature, but of men's fury, of their rage and thirst for total control.
Blood sprayed the streets like a deadly painting, covering the mindless vandals' work from before. These markings, I was to find out later, would stay forever, reminders of our own cruelty.
Cries tore the air like raptor talons, themselves too little to contain the truth of the pain. It was the cry of humans in agony, and at the same time, the cry of my ravaged hometown, screeching for some form of holy salvation, when there was none.
The corrupted men were merciless. No amount of blood was enough, and they continued to etch out their deep signature in the course of history with every man culled.
I stood, wide-eyed, squeezed so hard within a crevice of the streets that my sides hurt, my breaths the only thing around me, pressing into my ears.
"Vermin of the cities!" an enemy spat, so close I could smell his sweaty odour. "It is time for a new order to rise!"
Moments later, a human arm rolled to where I hid, the pungent stench of blood overbearing and metallic, something I could taste. His blade sank deep as I continued to watch, an act of horror I never thought would desecrate my home street, the road that I had once walked down with such joy.
It ended, heaven knows when. Starving from the hour-long wait within the tight hiding place, sweating and cramped from not moving for so long, I crept slowly out into the evening to inspect the damage done. The street was littered with long objects, all which I knew were human bodies, though some had already been disfigured beyond recognition.
Treading carefully between their broken skulls and limbs, between the fallen steel that glinted scarlet in the blood red sunlight, I searched. Searched for some trace of the life I once saw on the street. Nothing of that sort could be found.
The rats and flies had already descended upon the carnage, drawn by the stench, beggars and scavengers that had risen to the top of the unseen hierarchy.
One thing nagged at my brain—I had to find my parents. Had they perished, faceless civilians who would never be remembered? I knew I was guilty of forgetting as well, guilty of treating other victims as if they were nothing, not offering even a trace of pity for those I had just stepped over.
The windows were lightless, on both sides of the road. I wanted to curse, but cursing wouldn't work. My feet carried me home, as they had hundreds, thousands of times. Yet when I came automatically to a stop at that familiar piece of land, everything I saw was different. Windows lit from beyond the curtains inside had become mere bright glass mirroring the fiery sky, without souls of their own.
At this time the day before, we would have been having dinner, chatting about the day's events, quarrelling over small, meaningless matters. The empty windows told me everything—it was gone. We were gone; a home, a family no longer. Like the shattered skulls and stones at our gate, all that was left of our old world were fragments, memories, ghosts.
I turned away from the void sight, stepping once, twice away from the gateway. There were tears struggling to slide out of my eyes, and I forcefully refused them. The dry dust spun away into the dimming sunset, and never once did I look back. Wherever my parents had gone, I knew I would never find them again. I didn't even whisper goodbye.
My parents believed in spirits, but if there were spirits, if they had a say in the machinery of the world, I would not have been left in such desolation. No, there were no spirits. I was alone. If I prayed and said goodbye to them, no one would hear.
-
Again, I find myself gazing down the same street, the very same that once carried the saccharine emotions of the innocent and pampered.
I am not one of those now. Time and circumstance have led me down this path of pain and torture, one along which I may never walk again, a result of chance that I will never be able to reverse. I must last it through.
I wish I would not remember.
The memories and pain have almost destroyed my inner flame of hope. But it burns, still; I rekindle it each time it gutters and falls, never letting the past, never letting all the loss, blood and violence I saw that day pass through my defences, a roof that keeps out the rain of regrets.
As I watch, the sweet, wishful visions of the past, the ghosts I imagine—walking down the roads, chattering, playing with butterflies—fade into distances, never to be retrieved.
Then I close my eyes to the shining, bloodied skies, fingering the wand in my pocket. Hunger gnaws at my belly, and my feet ache from walking the streets in search for something other than rats and bodies, something that might sustain me. Not that I can change any of this.
Before me is laid a road of broken life, of departed shadows from a past too unreal. I must write a new chapter now, go down a path that will not provide for me every step of the way. The spatters of blood are still poignant in my mind's eye, the immortal wound it tore into my psyche only egging me on, in an unpleasant way.
Maybe I will be incompetent, and the same ones who ravaged our city that day will finally claim me as well. Maybe I will grow stronger. Will I ever have my revenge? That would be such sweetness…or maybe it is something I may only go on hoping for as something I will never receive.
Turning from this street, now just another demolished pathway, to be forgotten by me and the world, I leave my past behind—every smile, every step, every longing; for they are no longer worth living for.
It is time for me to take a new road, into a dark future that waits, whether I like it or not, the end yet unseen.
--
Well, this is about Kerning City, being attacked by some random people who want to start a new ruling system. Common plot, don't you think?