The Shade of Midnight
Only the sun would know what this meant for us.
Only the earth would beckon our weary souls to the ground, cover us in dust, and smother our lungs with ash.
Only the grave would set us free.
We walked as skeletons tied to a noose against an embankment awaiting the pounding waves of the sea to cleanse us of our sins. Except, those waves never came. The ocean’s soul had long since been sucked dry by the lust of the sun and man. Only particles of sand flickered through towering wind storms. These bristles brushed our burning skin like a bandage blankets a sore. The scratchy dirt dug into our reddened bruises, but we felt no pain. Pain was a luxury we no longer could contain.
Three strikes of lightning bolts flared through the sky, igniting crisscrossing patterns of purple electric light through the immensity of dark cloud. Magnetic rifts were common nowadays. Acidic rain was a commodity that buckets consumed by the gallons would collect and then cycle through a Cyclone for purification and dispensing. Even with the daily electric storms the rivers maintained their lapping tongues towards the sky.
Folk ventured out only when necessary. Sometimes sudden flash floods filtered through the camps forming islands of drifting sand and clay. Survivors stood like outposts garrisoning the remains of a life they once knew.
When the sky turned blue, everything changed. We just couldn’t see it yet.