Misty day, remains of the Judgement
The blades of sunlight are safely kept behind bars and the day is may hold piece. Still, I can hear the flies crawling around with buzzing sounds they take to the skies. Wings made of steel and leather raise them far above the clouds. The dead flies stick to the walls forming a giant graveyard and ineffective deterrent. The odour of the rotting sun chokes me uncomfortably and yet I won’t move, I can’t move. The safe and warm neon-light is too far away, tucked away in the white room, and the desert between me and this sanctuary would cost me all my water reserves. Oh, how I wish the walls would start closing in on me.
The hellish landscape stretches out in front of me with the ground blindingly ablaze. I try to cover my eyes but nothing works and the heat is sure to melt any resistance. This might be an environment that seems unfit to harbour any life, but I know that these creatures swarm about. Your grandmother spoke of them in whispers. They all praise their splinter of the monolith, clutch it tightly and never let go so it will grant them existence and conformation of life. I try to stay in what little shadow there is, but they have almost extinguished it entirely. Their loud machines are roaring in the background and make it impossible to concentrate on a solution. I wasn’t careful enough, should not have gone here, should have stayed where I belong. Do not repeat my mistake and you will thank me dearly for it one day. They are slowly unknowingly surrounding me. What grants them strength is also their greatest weakness, if left out of sight too long, the splinter will lose its purpose and they disintegrate into a revolting mass that cannot recognize itself anymore. I crisscross between shells of old metal holding my backpack close as not to make any sound by unintentionally brushing against something. Occasionally a yet unbroken steel contraption will move past and while I never will understand the true purpose behind it, the field of vision from inside seems to be very small. My first waypoint is in sight. A rundown facility that houses food inedible to them but kept to not destroy the illusion and lure foolish travellers into the slowly closing jaws of the Venus flytrap. A foolish traveller like myself admittedly. I creep through the facility with its shiny floors and lurid colours. They are buzzing again, something has aroused their hive-minded interest. They spastically shake their heads around. I quickly stuff what I can into my bag and slowly but focused make my way back, making sure not to leave any trails on the black ground slowly melting my shoes with every step.
Our haven feels silent and empty like it always does. I cannot get their twisted faces out of my head. My eternal tormentor takes many appearances, or only one, whichever way you may look at it. Are we in the way of evolution or can we simply not yet recognize the crawling underneath our skins yet? The loud and metallic turning of rusted gears echoes in my head. I will not end like those flies.