@mortedivina
" I know. Terrible. Awful. Evil incarnate. ❞
There were supposed to be people. Not a load of civilians tromping about, but some manner of life, some activity erupting as those who lived and worked there rallied to engage in daily routine. As horrendous as the world had become, they still had lives to maintain. And they strove to seek normalcy where they could, though it seemed to have become an impossibility those days.
The land was still, scarred by evidence of war.
Not even the scattering of birds could be heard, pecking and prodding rubbish left behind in a rush. Some tables still had food sitting out, prepared to devour, untouched.
Presumably so. There were no people to give them any insight on what transpired.
Renarin’s eyes fell on the one solitary figure aside from himself, an action that was not propelled forward by the normal sense of foreboding one might experience upon seeing such a sight. He was not motivated by the same inspirations others were granted.
Was that man responsible for what he was seeing? For the sudden abandonment of the people’s rightful places, scurrying to escape?
He watched him with such intensity, it near took on a life of its own.
“Is that true?” He spoke, shattering the silence that had begun to expand, almost irreversibly so. He knew better than most that, at times, it was impossible to disrupt the silence from taking hold. Sometimes it was too late to leave a mark. That didn’t mean that he failed to try on occasion.
