Crystalline fortresses that sparkle with the light of the sun, wars waged against foes with nothing but the trees to protect us from the onslaught, and the welcoming call of my mother for the warmth of her baking; a call that transformed crystal fortresses to igloos and wars with foes into playing with friends.
Pleasant childhood memories, transformed by innocence.
What I'd give for my mother’s baking now; as my only source of warmth threatens to go out at the slightest gust of the chilling air, and my stomach gnaws in protest for sustenance?
What would I trade to be back home sleeping soundly instead of here; a blank, unforgiving wasteland tarnished by the wreckage of the last bits of civilization I'd ever hope to see again?
I should have listened and never attempted to fly during the storm. Damn my hubris!
Time is muddled thanks to the sky, stubbornly painted with its dark hues and speckled with starlight. I'd follow them, if it weren’t for the dull pain in my leg and the numbness of my feet. I feel a bit warmer now thanks to the feeble flames, my body struggling to sluggishly curl closer into its warmth.
Perhaps there is hope for my survival? If I can warm up, then I can start finding a way to signal for help, she’d be searching for me after all.
But for now, I should conserve my energy and rest for tomorrow.
Yes, rest until tomorrow.
About the Creator
Haley M.T.
I'm just a simple day-to-day writer just trying to get by in life. No grand past or achievements, simply a Jill-of-Some-Trades enjoying a hobby.
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Comments (2)
I wonder who this is and how they got where they are? Because they flew? I like the atmosphere of this and the curiosity it's created.
I hope the warmth comes! Nice story.