Shattered Skies

The song seemed to be but an echo of the long forgotten unknown. The hallow, unknowing voices of  mocking children bouncing off the walls and resounding in my ears.

London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down.

It had been sung with great triumph, the children bursting their lungs to their full extent. They swung their arms to the rhythm, their hands locked together as if to contain more power than they had before.

London Bridge is falling down.

But how sad for such a thing to fall... quite literally. As if it had been made of paper to make the destruction appear, well, not so tragic. It had happened all at once. Every monument that sought to proudly represent each country was gone in mere seconds.

My Fair Lady.

Who is this lady? A queen perhaps?  The owner and seeker of all answers but, somehow, failing according to the chants of the näive children.

Take the Key and lock her up, lock her up, lock her up.

A key. Something so significant and yet so small. An item that can open or close, an item that contains all hope, an item I now hold. The opportunity I have, the significance I now bear, this is why I am here.

Take the Key and lock her up.

I’m closing the world with this key. I want to; to end this destruction, to end this tragedy. But how? Of course, this key is but a figure of speech and I am just a soul, broken among the whole.

My Fair Lady.

Unbearable, putrid, unholy pain. The memories of such a song have swallowed me in their depths. This “fair lady” was but a hope. A hope for me, a hope for the world, but this “hope” was already locked away. Hope hasn’t existed for three hundred and seventy-two days, ever since the Crash. That was when the world appeared to be swallowed by the stars and the universe but a bleak, black hole.

Here. I am. Walking through a desolate street that had once been crowded by children, singing the song in chorus with one another as they locked arms or bounced balls on their heads and knees. My hand skid across the colorful painting they had decorated a building with, a mark they left for the world but only enjoyed by ghosts. I had once had the privilege of seeing the children paint it with their small fingers, their laughs as they even decorated each other’s faces. Behind the crusting paint on their faces were innocent smiles, they could only see the joy in the world. Now though, large chunks of concrete were missing from the mural, created by the many explosions and bombs that fell on earth that day, and there were no children to bring peace to my broken soul. On the edges of the mural were prominent scratches made by those who suffered, unable to see the light anymore.

I turned away from the painting with a bitter realization. It was hard to chase a happiness that no longer existed. As it is, I was alone on this street; no other soul in sight other than my own. Though my soul seemed to be the equivalent of no soul at all. How can a soul exist without emotion? Without happiness? Hope? Sadness?

As I walked along the rubble, I found a bloodied handprint stained on a remaining wall. It became a symbol to me of a soul that had been left behind. However, I’m getting ahead of myself. Perhaps I should start from the beginning so you understand. Maybe even understand who I am. Because that bloodied handprint? That, was mine.

 

Spotted clouds hung delicately from the sunny sky. I was one of the many people sitting outside of a cafe, holding a warm cup of coffee between my hands. I never would have expected that something would change the world that day. Never would have thought it would collapse on itself in a matter of seconds.

Across the street was a group of children playing hopscotch and singing and dancing. Those children, so full of life and joy. Their innocent minds unaware of the dangers of the world. From my spot at an unused chess table I could see the news on a TV through the window glass of the cafe. It was every horror ever imagined. Around the world we were infected by these things... these creatures. Grotesque and hunched over with their spines protruding from their back and high above their heads while their bodies resembled that of an overgrown fetus. One creature looked to the camera, revealing it’s misshapen head and black eyes as blood from a woman, hanging limply from its teeth, dripped from its curled lips. Then suddenly, the camera was dropped and all that could be were screams echoing through the world. It was then that the government announced their plans. A cleansing they called it and an extraction of the virus. But me, I knew all too well and dropped my coffee, the liquid seeping through the soles of my shoes as my eyes turned toward the children. So young, such a life to live and yet, they would not get to see it. I wanted to run to them, hurry them away to safety but there wasn’t enough time.

            The government sought to save themselves most likely. They were probably huddled in a shelter as they made their closing statement to the United States and Parliament to Great Britain and so on. The “important” people would live while the rest of us sacrificed our lives for them. All to destroy the ever- growing numbers of creatures around the world. It was all just a matter of time I suppose, but there were so many young lives. I could not change what was about to happen, it was out of my hands so, most likely, all of them would die.

Rockets streamed across the sky, leaving white puffy clouds in their wake. I had accepted my fate, in a way. It wasn’t exactly my choice though, it was forced on me but I had to come to terms with it. The rockets were coming down all around the world, even that London Bridge would fall and our hopes all along with it. This, was the Crash. All at once, death was inevitable for the world.  And me? I was at the center of everything. The world trembled beneath my feet and everyone stood up to witness the world at its end.  I waited for the impact of the bombs, nearly craved for it and the destruction it would bring. People held hands, a woman gather the children and covered them with her frail body, but I stood alone. Before I could even realize it, heat swelled throughout my back and threw me off of my feet, propelling me toward a wall. I blacked out for several hours, maybe even days. But finally, I awoke to see the destruction before me. Children lay sprawled on the ground in their own blood and I thought, through my blurry eyes, I make out the figure of a creature lapping at the puddles with its greedy tongue. Another saw me and started to slowly move one foot in front of the other, making its way toward me while its blood-stained claws scraped the floor. I tried to stand up, placing a heavy, bloodied hand upon the wall just as the creature sprung forward, its shards of teeth sinking deep into my body. The amount of pain was almost pleasurable as a soft scream barely escaped my lips like a whisper. And, with that, I became who I am. Because “I” am Death.

Author's Note

Please tell me what you think. Hope you enjoyed :)

Reviews

[Langley Serra]

If you could italicize the lyrics of London Bridge, that'll be great.
Also, I like your narrative style and execution. Keep it up!

[Archia]

I thought this was really interesting, and that the way it kept bringing up that song was good. I didn't expect the end, so it was quite dramatic when the last line came.

[Asem]

I loved it so nice and the words so deep thank you about this nice job keep work
will read more

[Stefanie Holmes]

You have a beautiful gift in writing! :) I truly loved this story and the way you painted it.

~Stefanie

[parkerjeslick]

Details are imaculant! The world of the story is well painted. Nice job!

[A. Amos]

You are gifted and you truly can write truly enjoyed.