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The It


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A thin trail scarred the sand beneath the weight: a fingerprint in the dust, subject to the whim of the hot, heavy breeze. Each leg pushed forward, forced into reluctant movement as the hands swung in a subconscious trance.
It was far from the gaping chasms of rock that used to be streets and the harsh sand that was once grass. It knew nothing of the rubble left from thriving cities, was blind to the thin dust of bones that swept the wasteland.
And this haven in which It dwelled spoiled not to the tidings of ignorance nor devastation of mortal pride. It was sheltered from the horrors of the war and wasteland of the apocalypse.

Yet this protection served only to parry the waves of reality that threatened to replace past with present, to shield those scraps of humanity that clung so desperately to the warmth of the past, allowing an eternal dwelling in the ever evolving Eden.

Life was right before the war. The shriveled corpse that lay victim to catastrophe was once married to the most beautiful woman in the world. She possessed misty green eyes which, either through blessing or curse, always found virtue at the core. Her face had been smoothly carved, still warm from the fires of the sculpting oven, and she had slick red lips that would often retract into a luminescent curvature of glistening white pearls.
It loved her with every ounce of Its being and when their eyes met beads of sweat gathered at Its fingertips. And It took this love and threw it at her with all the strength It possessed until It saw the beauty in itself that she had seen from the beginning. And she took this beauty and transformed it into two of the most beautiful children on Earth. And they had flowing brown hair that reached down to their lashes and swept across their marble foreheads over their mother’s sparkling eyes.
And these treasures belonged to It.
Until they slipped through sweaty fingertips and fell into the gaping darkness that It fought so desperately to repel.
And even now It returns from these lustful reminisces, back to this shriveled fool, desperately clinging to sanity.

The war was never supposed to happen, but it did. Countries were pitted against one another, as a mist of blood and turmoil formed across oceans, linking the world into one swirling mass of pain. Government was not supposed to fail, but it crumbled. Politics turned to survival and unification gave way, shattering into 7 billion souls, trapped by the trenches of isolation- desperately clinging to their bibles as missiles rained down from the heavens.
Then the war confiscated every fiber of humanity It had left and lit them aflame before It’s dark eyes. And even after this fire had vanished, the flames could be seen licking It’s soul as It was left stranded in the graveyard of humanity’s past.
Yet still It walks atop the miles of dirt and rubble.
It walks with the weight of humanity on Its back and the wavering hope of destiny in Its eyes. It walks for the family It lost and the thirst in It’s soul. It walks for those two beautiful emerald eyes.
I am It.



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C.K.Snow said...
Feb. 3, 2012 at 9:03 pm
Wow, this is very good! You put a lot of emotion into this piece and your description was fantastic! Well done!
 
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