Work Text:
The wind howls,
Like a wolf who saw his pack dead,
Unrecognizable, except for the tattoos on their arms.
The wind howls,
Like a child crying for his family,
Crying for the death and destruction around him,
Crying for their lives lost.
Ash falls,
Along with the tears on The Boy's face,
A grey shroud for the fallen world.
Where has the moon gone?
It disappeared with his dreams,
Disappeared in the clouds,
Disappeared, and brought forth
The darkness of the night and his new life.
The Boy suffers to survive,
He is raised by the ruins around him.
Food is scarce and company feels like a fever dream,
He finds a mannequin, amidst the rubble,
'A friend,' he thinks
And gives the doll a voice,
Naming her after the sorrow he feels.
Time marches slow,
The Boy dedicates himself to his return,
Holding onto a thread of hope,
As small as a pollen grain.
He must return.
"It is a fantasy, nothing but a dream,"
Screams the ruins of the world,
But he has to.
The Boy's life ended the moment he walked out of that house,
But his family may live again (maybe he can too)
Hope is a strange thing,
Hidden inside Pandora's Box
They call it a good thing among the evil,
Because it stayed with humanity
Wonder why it was put there in the first place.
Four decades past,
In that eighth circle of hell
Equations scattered every surface,
Work, survive,
Work, survive.
An endless routine.
Until help came in the form The Woman With An Opportunity
The Boy met her with guns blazing
His body slowly dying in that wasteland,
He was tired of it all,
But he held onto hope.
She offered him a job,
"Only Five years,
Then you can go home"
A saccharine smile on her red lips.
"But it's murder"
The Boy protested,
"Corrections" she said,
"But you can go home,
Maybe even keep them alive"
Hope is a strange thing,
You never know when it will change into desperation.
The Boy signed a deal with the devil,
And left the ruined world.
The wind howled,
Like a man, trying to get back to his family,
To spare them the horror that was their future.
Ash fell,
As the last man on Earth left,
A blanket of grey ,
Covering the last sign of life.
The desolate wasteland waits,
Hoping The Boy does not return,
Holding onto his hope of returning home.
"He must go back"
It takes far too long,
And The Boy is long gone,
But he makes it back.
A battle hardened and tired man,
Finally rests.
He is home.
Hope is a strange thing,
The smallest amount can make the impossible reality.
It stayed with The Boy,
It stays with us,
Hold onto it.