Sun and Unspoken Tragedy
Creative Writing
Grey. The sky. The trees. The mountains. The hills. The animals. The people. Shadows. Of the once magnificent mountains, embedded in the prodigious craters cast into the once moist, healthy soil. Of the people, joyful, content, now only faintly remembered by their dark grey silhouette imprinted on the burnt trunks of the ombú. Darkness. Bear had forgotten what it felt like to feel warmth, spreading through her body, reaching her fingers and toes, comforting her, making her secure. Granted, the sun was there, but it was obfuscated by thick, ash clouds, looming ominously, unyielding, intransigent. The sun’s rays barely penetrated the dense fog, leaving only a weak, dull orange somewhere off in the distance.
Bear stopped. Her toes aligned with the rough edge of the rock. She stood looking out over the chasm, squinting, trying, in vain, to see past the fog, to see the other half of the land; the half that had not felt the wrath of the Perpetrators. If only she could see past the mist, she might be able to bring back those fond memories of her home. Bear knew they were stored away in her mind somewhere, she was certain, but when she looked about her, at the land she now walked on, she could only accept that this was her place, and nothing was ever different. She turned, resuming her excursion, trampling dead, decaying flora and fruits, wincing as she stepped on the sharp, jagged blades of the dry, scorched grass, stumbled over the wild, unruly roots of the sycamore trees, traversed a swarm of voracious locusts. Having arrived, she took her spot beside Stag, a gentle, innocent boy with an extraordinary harmony with nature.
The Snowdrop Crater was Bear’s single glimmer of hope amongst a land of desolation, bleakness, and destruction. It was so named for the sudden blooming of the snowdrop flower, flora unknown to Bear’s land, inside one of the craters formed by the Unspoken Tragedy. They were exceptionally beautiful, milky-white in colour,
Grey. The sky. The trees. The mountains. The hills. The animals. The people. Shadows. Of the once magnificent mountains, embedded in the prodigious craters cast into the once moist, healthy soil. Of the people, joyful, content, now only faintly remembered by their dark grey silhouette imprinted on the burnt trunks of the ombú. Darkness. Bear had forgotten what it felt like to feel warmth, spreading through her body, reaching her fingers and toes, comforting her, making her secure. Granted, the sun was there, but it was obfuscated by thick, ash clouds, looming ominously, unyielding, intransigent. The sun’s rays barely penetrated the dense fog, leaving only a weak, dull orange somewhere off in the distance.
Bear stopped. Her toes aligned with the rough edge of the rock. She stood looking out over the chasm, squinting, trying, in vain, to see past the fog, to see the other half of the land; the half that had not felt the wrath of the Perpetrators. If only she could see past the mist, she might be able to bring back those fond memories of her home. Bear knew they were stored away in her mind somewhere, she was certain, but when she looked about her, at the land she now walked on, she could only accept that this was her place, and nothing was ever different. She turned, resuming her excursion, trampling dead, decaying flora and fruits, wincing as she stepped on the sharp, jagged blades of the dry, scorched grass, stumbled over the wild, unruly roots of the sycamore trees, traversed a swarm of voracious locusts. Having arrived, she took her spot beside Stag, a gentle, innocent boy with an extraordinary harmony with nature.
The Snowdrop Crater was Bear’s single glimmer of hope amongst a land of desolation, bleakness, and destruction. It was so named for the sudden blooming of the snowdrop flower, flora unknown to Bear’s land, inside one of the craters formed by the Unspoken Tragedy. They were exceptionally beautiful, milky-white in colour,