Welcome back to Drabble Wednesday. This week we are once again going to the dark side, with three world-ending tales. Enjoy.
The dry dust scattered its grains across the charred plain, swirling, erasing the days-old footprints in the ruined earth. Stragglers had passed this way, not long ago, a band of survivors looking for hope of salvation against the daily struggle of life.
Perhaps they heard the whispered rumours of a western settlement, a city that rebuilt and established a new haven from the destruction. Or stubborn will had driven them, desperate purpose to find something, anything, better.
But hope was long dead, buried under long claw marks raked through the dirt, furrows slowly filling from the widening pools of blood.
Weakening static, electronic buzz fading out with dying power, housed inside empty structures. Airwaves of useless sound, humming power with nowhere to go and no one left to listen. They are the last machines to erode, the last vestige of the lively world that was. The buildings stand, but serve no purpose. The vehicles rust away to empty shells. The techno gadgets are broken and fried.
Only the lofty towers remain, broadcasting their lonely signals. Skyward metal reaching for the stars and any forlorn expectation. The last, desperate call for help.
Help that never came to a now dead world.
Dead Man Staring
His empty eyes glare up at the burning sky; no one stopped to close them after his death. The carrion birds have not yet plucked them from their sockets, not yet feasted on the succulent morsels that witnessed the end of his world.
Perhaps the birds know they will soon follow him into death, that the world is ending. That one last meal isn’t worth their time. Or perhaps they’ve simply fled, followed the survivors of the first rain of fire from the sky, seeking shelter and life.
For the sky will burn, and the fire will continue to fall.