Wasteland Paragraphs 1-4

Behind this leaden sky, the sun is but a dim glow. No warmth penetrates this dull, damp veil. Each sodden breath tastes of ashes and smoke as each footstep slips in the mud and filth and loose stones. This world has moved on. Entropy has at last torn apart all vestige of "civilization" and we are left with ineffable decay; the slow wasting away of love and life and thought. I've no heart left for emotiion, my eyes see only a bleary graying smear. No reason remains for existence and all are lost to attrition.

Something moves nearby, a deeper shadow in the horizonless gloom. I hear the scuflle of its passing and smell the sharp stench of the thing. Yet it remains only a murky outline as the sky continues to rain ash like a heavy winter snow. I freeze lest a footfall give me away and let this phantom pass. These days there are no friends, only competitors or foes.

This earth is cursed and we weary travellers are a curse upon it. Like termites we have devoured the very heart of it and made of it nothing more than tinder fed to ravenous flame. All our technology, our dreams and aspirations, our feeble plays at love are only smoke and ashes, the refuse of a world.

Whatever was out there has moved on, oblivious. We all stumble on in a world obliviated. Dreams are green and deepest blue, the colors of stars and growing things. Those colors are gone, all is awash with soot. Each cough drags a gray cloud from within, further tainting a poisoned atmosphere.