• Looking down up on the scarred land, I no longer see the beautiful art I so enjoyed only moments ago. Palms no longer swayed in the cool, salty breeze and once green grass blackened and brittle. Soil that was once so fertile can no longer support life and give birth to more colorful beauty. Even the ocean waters that teemed with life seemed dead as it lazily licked at the ebony sand, spilling its casualties on the barren land. The scenery is painted in shades, blackened death and cold gray. The only color I could spot was life’s red.

    It followed a man faithfully, escaping his scarred and wounded body. Skin melted away and exposing muscle to no longer pure air. His lungs burned with effort to take in needed oxygen and his body screamed with very step. The only thing unscathed was his eyes and I could see the misery and dying hope. Why had his eyes been spared? Why should any be witness to such a dark day? Why should this be the last thing he sees?

    I watched him stumble, dragging himself across the asphalt with painful determination. Skin and muscle peeled off like the thin membrane of a grape, leaving a morbid trail of blood and flesh. Why was he doing this? Silently, I urged him to lie down and sleep, to end his pain. He ignored my effort, standing again after the wind passed and continued, undeterred.

    How long did I watch him? Perplexed as he fell and only began to drag himself on the ground, crawling. Finally, he stopped. His eyes wide with what could only be horror. Now, I could see what had driven him this far. He had been searching for life. Another living soul in this town of ash.

    Like statues made of onyx they stood, frozen in time. A mother pushed a stroller, baby once sleeping inside. A son held his father’s hand, who turned to his wife with a carefree smile. Still and looking on as he reached a shaking hand to the still figures. Holding my breath as his fingers hovered, shaking unsteadily only millimeters from the charred and ashen statues. The worn pads on his fingers barely grazed, but it was enough to disturb the fragile balance that held them glued together. Like fine dust, they crumbled and gave way at the whisper of a touch. As the last of the ash figures fell to gather on the scarred cement, it brought with it the man and the last of his hope. Body buckling and crumpling to the ground; the last of his strength leaving.

    Finally, I released my breath, stirring the fine ash and causing it to twirl and dance before his dying eyes. Give up, I urged, There is nothing left in this waste land, but cold, lifeless statues of ash, just as delicate as the human life it once held. Sleep, I commanded, stealing his last breath for my own.