Written Tomfoolery
0
The neon lights are shining on me again; I walk these lonely streets without a friend. Every night, I tread the same path, thinking to myself about the past. What would life be like if we had accepted the visitors?
This world is bland; it is dark. The weather forecast for tomorrow? It’s gonna be cloudy. Day after that? Same thing. The sky is stagnant; this world is nearing its death. The buildings, statues, and everything else we worked so hard to create have been reduced to shameful husks and piles of rubble, mere shadows of their former selves. This ruined landscape is our punishment; it is what we deserve.
A familiar sensation crawls up my back; I can tell that they are close. The sound of their large, clawed feet warns me that I’m running out of time. I have about 15 seconds before they see me, at which point I will either be killed on the spot, or sold into slavery, Neither of these options appeal to me, so I decide to do what I do best; I decide to run for my life. Pivoting on the ball of my foot, I turn around and begin a high speed run, all while remaining silent. I dash down a small, decaying alleyway, and am now on the familiar path home.
As I sprint, I begin to recall life before they landed here, life before we began that suicidal war.
“These creatures are evil!” This statement, uttered by none other than the president of the world himself, is what started everything. Had he not brainwashed the population into a blind rage, humanity might not be on its last leg right now. If we hadn’t decided to try enslaving them because they were different, there is a chance our people could have avoided the slaughter that ensued. Because we, as humans, believe ourselves to be inherently superior to all, we tried to change them. We wanted them to conform to our ideals, to our standards. Had we not done this, our world may have not been destroyed. But we did try to change them; we tried to enslave them, and that was our downfall. We didn’t know just how much stronger and technologically advanced they were. They decimated our cities, they left nothing. Every day, we live our lives not knowing if we will make it to tomorrow.
The old fashioned bomb-shelter that is now my home comes into view. After opening the large vault door, I climb down the rusty, broken ladder into a small hallway. I walk into my small room and lie on the worn-out cot. The light is broken, so I close my eyes right away. A large exhale breaks the cold silence; it wasn’t me. I open my eyes just in time to see a large, spiked hammer being brought down to my right arm. I have no time to move; a pain unlike any other I have ever felt erupts from my upper arm. I open my mouth to scream, but a large, scaly hand grips my face violently. It lifts me up effortlessly, somewhat akin to a child lifting a ragdoll. My vision drags itself over my cot, where I can see a pool of blood forming around my severed arm. My focus returns to my assailant, who is readying his weapon for another strike. He smashes it into my knees this time, and the pain I felt earlier returns. Blow after blow, his face shows no emotion. After a few more swings, I lose the feeling in my legs. A large thud pulls my vision to the ground, where to my horror I see what remains of my legs. Blood is pouring freely from my legs, but I am barely conscious anymore. He brings the hammer into the air, obviously about to crush my skull. I clench my eyes shut; I grit my teeth.
This is it, I sorrowfully think to myself. My head fills with thoughts of life before I was hunted. Bright skies and memories invade my thoughts. Image after image speed in front of my mind’s eye. I hear the best grunt, and feel the hammer meet my skull. My mind goes blank.
This world is bland; it is dark. The weather forecast for tomorrow? It’s gonna be cloudy. Day after that? Same thing. The sky is stagnant; this world is nearing its death. The buildings, statues, and everything else we worked so hard to create have been reduced to shameful husks and piles of rubble, mere shadows of their former selves. This ruined landscape is our punishment; it is what we deserve.
A familiar sensation crawls up my back; I can tell that they are close. The sound of their large, clawed feet warns me that I’m running out of time. I have about 15 seconds before they see me, at which point I will either be killed on the spot, or sold into slavery, Neither of these options appeal to me, so I decide to do what I do best; I decide to run for my life. Pivoting on the ball of my foot, I turn around and begin a high speed run, all while remaining silent. I dash down a small, decaying alleyway, and am now on the familiar path home.
As I sprint, I begin to recall life before they landed here, life before we began that suicidal war.
“These creatures are evil!” This statement, uttered by none other than the president of the world himself, is what started everything. Had he not brainwashed the population into a blind rage, humanity might not be on its last leg right now. If we hadn’t decided to try enslaving them because they were different, there is a chance our people could have avoided the slaughter that ensued. Because we, as humans, believe ourselves to be inherently superior to all, we tried to change them. We wanted them to conform to our ideals, to our standards. Had we not done this, our world may have not been destroyed. But we did try to change them; we tried to enslave them, and that was our downfall. We didn’t know just how much stronger and technologically advanced they were. They decimated our cities, they left nothing. Every day, we live our lives not knowing if we will make it to tomorrow.
The old fashioned bomb-shelter that is now my home comes into view. After opening the large vault door, I climb down the rusty, broken ladder into a small hallway. I walk into my small room and lie on the worn-out cot. The light is broken, so I close my eyes right away. A large exhale breaks the cold silence; it wasn’t me. I open my eyes just in time to see a large, spiked hammer being brought down to my right arm. I have no time to move; a pain unlike any other I have ever felt erupts from my upper arm. I open my mouth to scream, but a large, scaly hand grips my face violently. It lifts me up effortlessly, somewhat akin to a child lifting a ragdoll. My vision drags itself over my cot, where I can see a pool of blood forming around my severed arm. My focus returns to my assailant, who is readying his weapon for another strike. He smashes it into my knees this time, and the pain I felt earlier returns. Blow after blow, his face shows no emotion. After a few more swings, I lose the feeling in my legs. A large thud pulls my vision to the ground, where to my horror I see what remains of my legs. Blood is pouring freely from my legs, but I am barely conscious anymore. He brings the hammer into the air, obviously about to crush my skull. I clench my eyes shut; I grit my teeth.
This is it, I sorrowfully think to myself. My head fills with thoughts of life before I was hunted. Bright skies and memories invade my thoughts. Image after image speed in front of my mind’s eye. I hear the best grunt, and feel the hammer meet my skull. My mind goes blank.
