The Weight of the World

Ruins of the World

Veronica

A cool misty sense fills my nostrils. The cold air beats on me like ice and all I feel is coldness. Coldness. Cold and icy like the tiny particles beating against my skin. Rain -- maybe. If so, perhaps that is what's chilling my body. I sit up slowly and feel my wet hair brush against my skin. It's so cold. My cloak is torn and blood engulfs my ankle. I seeth in pain and drag myself into a shed. The floor is a cold, hard, stone that surfaces the ground. And the wood that makes up the shed is all torn and bent over my head. And some water drips all over the floor, making little puddles of dark gloomy water.

Where's the wolf? Where am I? Questions upon questions buzz around my head and it hurts so badly. I rip off the bottom of my cloak and wrap it around my bloody ankle. 

I look out into the world and see the darkness draining the sun, and for the first time, I see. The buildings are falling, fire envelopes the world everywhere. I've never been to a city, only rich people live there. I stare-- it's so destroyed. Debris lays everywhere, and the rain interacts with the scene to make it look sad. The only good building is a white building that stands in the middle of all the dying buildings. It's flawless, as I can tell and the lights are on too. What is in there?

I lean against the wall and my eyelids become heavy...

A deep voice beats against the rain, "Check the perimeter! CHECK THAT SHED!"

Flashlight beams dance along the pavement. A hand in my stomach tugs at me to hide. I crawl into the back and behind a row of paint bottles. It's not the best place to hide but it's better than sitting out in the open. Footsteps echo across the shed and they come closer and closer. The person shuffles through the stuff, then he moves to a closer section, and a closer...

"Aye!" the deep voice calls, "I think we're done for the night. President Emba want's us down, immediately. Beheading ceremony on a mad lady who claims her daughter was dragged into the ground."

The person who was checking for me was actually a girl and she rings out her singsongy voice, "Eh -- Bardy?"

Silence protests.

"I-I see blood."

"Blood?" Bardy whispers.

"A trail," she says, "it's going towards those paint cans."

Shoot.

Bardy's footsteps come closer and he knocks the paint cans over me. Shades of gray and black pour over me and I scream. I can make out Bardy's face through the thick layers of paint. He has dark skin, and the lady has thin brown hair tied into a low brown bun. They're wearing blue suits with badges labeled over them, and they have rifles in their hands.

Bardy gives me a cold laugh, and pulls a blanket out of his pocket, throwing it over me. And I become still -- petrified.