Redemption

Chapter 22

It has been days since we left the island. Most of the time spent on the temporary safe haven was time lapsed and foggy. Everything went by so quickly, that I hardly recall any of the time spent.

Mac and I had fixed a makeshift raft together from the dull, slippery seaweed and various objects that completed our flotation tests.

Then we left.

That was it.

Gone.

I feel myself becoming more and more insane every day. Being strong, being a leader, and being courageous are all characteristics that the Society has bred out of us.

I don't know what will become of us. I am clueless to what has happened to humanity.

I need to stop.

I need to quit sulking about my destined time era.

I need to change the world for the better.

But, I can't. Not now, and I'll probably never get the chance.

I'm small, I'm weak, and I have too much, and too little to lose.

What if I'll be the last one standing? How could I live? How could I love?

The world has gone through the veil of the abyss. The world has gone to the deepest, ugliest, most agonizing, place and I don't want anything to do with it.

I'd rather die.

That frightens me.

I would rather die, than live in a world so cruel.

I'd rather die.

~

The Society hasn't touched the ground that I walk on.

I squat down and dig my hands into the scorched soil.

No matter how destroyed this area is, it doesn't compare to the Society's wrath.

We move north, following the dying sun's given navigation.

I've gone mute.

I reach into my satchel and retrieve the small, green canteen. I dribble some water onto my parched tongue, and swallow miserably.

How would I describe the weather? I ask myself, glancing at my surroundings.

Muggy, dull and dark as always.

What if it was different?

The air holds pockets of mist. Not mist that you'd averagely wonder about, poison. The hazy clouds hang low to the ground, emitting a shallow light from the deathly star above. The air is shallow, and you have no idea as if the next second will be your last.

There they are again. Words. Expression. Light.

I smile to myself. That went well.

I silently move onto the environment.

Dead, is the only word that shows itself.

What if it was different?

The land is broken, barren. It speaks only to itself, drawing its final breaths with every snap of a twig. It's scorched from raging heat, and brittle from ongoing ice ages. The land is used, from the olden days. The trees stand cracked and crackled among the brush, like decay upon the ground. Insects and parasites explore the remains, finding nothing to scavenge. They slowly die, feasting on the tiniest bit of hope that still lives in their unknown bodies. Plague is seen with every agonizing step, breath, and word that leaks from the body. Fear crawls with every simple creak of the rotting wood. Eyes widen to any caw belonging to a mysterious animal. Anxiety pours through every seep in doubt.

This is the world.

This is the world in word.

I'd rather die.