The Waste

A world where I seek a malevolent solace.

   The waste is all I've ever wanted to be. Dry and brittle and lonely; there is no hope here. Muted sounds of cracking grass and twigs reach only my ears as I walk to a destination I've never known. A pure image of dust and sand, the waste carries a sinister and metallic scent; the damned air twisting around me makes me sick. Trees are mere sticks in the ground, for there will never be rain here. A grey clouded sky keeps the hope of escape close in my mind, and the torture is barely livable.
    
   The pure desolation makes me love it, makes me want to stay despite my agony. The breathless wind taunts my imagination as it pushes small things here and there to move and twitch. If there was anyone else here I would certainly destroy them in order to maintain the dormant evil of the place.

   This is a world in which one is not meant to leave. I was born to simply exist here, in my home of the Waste. I do not know time, nor death or hunger. I am always plagued by a gnawing thirst; something I need but which can never be found. I was put here to suffer, and I do just that.

Reviews

[WatcherInSilence]

Superb and very intense...Your waste seems like a refuge, a sanctuary instead of the land of disgust that you describe...
We all have our wasteland, for in many moments of our lives, when our thoughts are clouded by life and our destination seems unclear, we choose to escape it to the land where we are simply meant to exist.
Your writing reminded us all of that important notion...Well done.

[Dr. Dub]

I love your subtle choice of words. The waste is a state of being yet also a place to be. Find your thirst.