The landscape is cracked, broken. A wasteland.
But it wasn’t like this all that long ago…
It used to be verdant grasslands, widespread farmland, places where herds of livestock used to graze for their daily sustenance. It all changed in the breath of a moment. One second there, the next—devastation and desolation.
No one knows exactly what happened; maybe the lungs of the Earth simply stopped breathing. Or maybe it was something more diabolical—like the Wings of War swept in, decimating the countryside to its crust.
It’s uninhabitable but some still try to eke out an existence, living in the WasteLands like refugees of another time and place. Their faces always covered, the harsh sun and winds taking their toll even through the woven fabric; etching the skeleton beneath into the tautly stretched skin. Hollow faces stare back, slack and unforgiving. Specters of their former selves, waiting for death to take them like it has the land.
© 2018 Julianne Snow