the last man

the last demise of man in a post apocalyptic world

dawn breaks on shattered ground

the echoes of life, lonely sounds

as the shroud of night slowly recedes

fragments of the past are slowly revealed

the last remnants of a civilization are framed against the sky

broken  shards of buildings, vine covered and crumbling 

stand as lonely sentinels, searching for any sign of their creators

pillars that seem to hold up the last remnants of an age

a lone four-legged figure tops the rise 

its ears perk as it points its muzzle into the wind

more figures join it, the last of a dying race

a gnarled branch snaps

the loud crack, an explosion of sound against the quiet whisper of the wind

the pack erupts into motion
paws tear the foliage, hungry howls echo through steel canyons

worn and bent, a miserable creature tries to escape inevitable death

its hide, a patchwork of scars across leathery skin

it stumbles on two legs, occasionally using its remaining arm for stability

the other ends in a meager stump, a victim of some long ago tragedy

the pack catches up

the first tearing at the figures legs, ripping the hamstrings

the second and third tear at its flanks, its ribs exposed to the harsh air with the slash of teeth

the leader strikes for the throat, tearing it out with a single snap of its jaws

blood fountains from the severed arteries

 as if Acheron, the river of woe, flowed from the creatures neck

the last breaths, agonizing shudders from a savaged windpipe

a mist of crimson fills the air

the pack feasts  even as the creature dies 

the need for food, all consuming

they will survive to hunt again

the last human is dead

it is a harsh place this wasteland of steel canyons