The foul stench of death woke Arna, forcing her eyes to accept the reality that this was not a dream. Everyone and everything that Arna knew and loved was gone and she was left to serve as a witness to where mankind’s selfishness had brought them. She and she alone would act as a spokesman to the ferocity in which man had dug his own grave. Warnings of impending doom had been sent, pleas from heaven and earth had been shouted to stop the abuse, the wastefulness of what only God could make and only He could restore. But deaf ears could not hear and blinded eyes refused to see that death and destruction would soon be in command. Coughing and wheezing, Arna realized her survival was not because she had been so good, no, it simply meant that the past needed a crier, an example and a link in the chain of history and a reference point for the future. The mucous in her lungs would soon choke out her life but not before she wrote down her life’s story just in case, God, in all his glory and mercy should decide to give mankind another chance.
The carcasses of men, women and children laid everywhere, their flesh blackened and melted by hell’s fires. Their faces wore looks of agony and surprise, shocked that they had actually died as a result of their own arrogance and disbelief. How sad, she thought as she stumbled over body after body, rotting carpet strewn across the landscape for miles around. Alone, hungry, sick, yet, still afraid to die, Arna searched for some sign of life as she shielded her nose from the stench with her filthy, blood-caked hands. As she waded through the sea of bodies she envied the dead, their misery mercifully snatched from their cold stiff fingers, and their blank stares serving as the final period of their life’s sentence. Although she had not eaten in days, her belly was full, filled with the poisonous fumes that filled the air, thick like ghosts, bitter to the taste, serving as a reminder that her end was near. Even in her weakened state, her survival instincts were wide awake and she knew she had to find food and water and shelter. Stumbling over blackened-to-a-crisp bodies, Arna cursed designer pumps. Her money could have been better spent on a gas mask and now her feet and ankles screamed aloud, calling her a crazy, vain fool. Fatigue tapped her on the shoulder and she longed for her 800-thread count sheets and down comforter. Nothing was left of her life or any life for that matter. How could this have happened and why was she still left to bare witness to it all.
To be continued...
The carcasses of men, women and children laid everywhere, their flesh blackened and melted by hell’s fires. Their faces wore looks of agony and surprise, shocked that they had actually died as a result of their own arrogance and disbelief. How sad, she thought as she stumbled over body after body, rotting carpet strewn across the landscape for miles around. Alone, hungry, sick, yet, still afraid to die, Arna searched for some sign of life as she shielded her nose from the stench with her filthy, blood-caked hands. As she waded through the sea of bodies she envied the dead, their misery mercifully snatched from their cold stiff fingers, and their blank stares serving as the final period of their life’s sentence. Although she had not eaten in days, her belly was full, filled with the poisonous fumes that filled the air, thick like ghosts, bitter to the taste, serving as a reminder that her end was near. Even in her weakened state, her survival instincts were wide awake and she knew she had to find food and water and shelter. Stumbling over blackened-to-a-crisp bodies, Arna cursed designer pumps. Her money could have been better spent on a gas mask and now her feet and ankles screamed aloud, calling her a crazy, vain fool. Fatigue tapped her on the shoulder and she longed for her 800-thread count sheets and down comforter. Nothing was left of her life or any life for that matter. How could this have happened and why was she still left to bare witness to it all.
To be continued...
