Wasteland

Day 16: Story A Day; Prompt – write in the second person point of view.

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You walked down the long, lonely stretch of road, a weary traveler. There was too much to think about. It drove you from your home. It made you live alone, eeking out a living just to make it from one day to the next. Your steps faltered upon the caked, cracked earth, and the sun burned into your brain. You did not mind, it seemed. Your fate was captured from that dream; the one where you looked at your hollow eyes, and your reflection saw no mirth.

You could no longer remember the life you led, in the town without a name. You were simply moving along, one step at a time. You had crawled a stretch not so far back, and you slid between the dusty ground, and the rusted out skelaton of the an old chevrolet. Your sleep was restless, and you saw glimpses of broken bodies, bloated in death. You wished for the same. But you knew there would be no end. Your’s was the eternity of living while others bled, the sand soaking up the red.

You watched the creatures scurry from your approach, none dared come near. You were not granted even a cloak, nor a dagger, only old boots to carry you day to day. Your fate was written upon the scars of a land, barren and unable to birth anew. For your hand in this ragged dying world, was the last turning of the screw.