End of the world

A note: civilisation is spelt with an s in NZ. thank you, that is all.



One day, the sky fell, and darkness descended on the human race. For many days thereafter, endless night blanketed the land, and the once mighty civilisation felt despair settle in their hearts. Around them echoed the noises of ruin and destruction, of their world being torn apart.

And still the darkness lay. Soon screams joined in with the sounds of the devastation. People dying, trapped in the wreckage of their homes. For days and days the misery continued, unabated as untamed forces ripped the land to pieces. Countless horrors wreaked havoc on the world under the cover of that infinite darkness, while the human race sat helpless, blind, powerless.

Then, after those many, many days of torment, light returned to the world. But it was a changed world. No trace was left of the great cities, no skyscapers blotted the horizon. Their technologies were gone, obliterated by the forces of sea and earth. Their homes buried by water, crushed by rock, the few survivors faced the wasteland which remained to them.

Before them was a desert of untold magnitude. Immense expanses of bare rock and sand stretched to the horizon and beyond, a lifeless plane of horror. Seeing only death there, they instead turned on one another, screaming their outrage and accusing others of the crimes they had all committed. But the fault was their own, one and all. The people’s greed and thirst for power had driven them to their own destruction, the evils of their civilisation destroying the balance of nature, releasing the pent up fury of the world on the insignificance of human kind. Now, faced with their own imperfections, still they refused to accept them. For if the human race has but one fault, it is its blindness to the atrocities which it commits.



Word count: 304