*
Gnarled trees with bleached white bark stood in rows, like a living graveyard. Streams wove through the dead land like multi-coloured lanes of death, as any life within was slowly devoured by the acidic spray. Even the grass, the very foundation of nature, had been painted midnight black by ash and decay. Overcome by what had become of the land, Barsch raised his eyes to the heavens, tears in his eyes due to the noxious smell, and cried out in terror.
An ugly, maddening apparition greeted him; for what had once been the deep grey of the skies had been replaced by a sickening, violet-red hue. It was as if the heavens had been pierced, and the blood of countless souls had been allowed to trickle down to the world below. Before the Great Sleep, the planet had been dying… now, it was decomposing.
The stark contrast between expectation and reality, and the realization that his world was just as doomed as when he had left it rendered Barsch speechless. He lay there, eyes unblinking, captivated by the horrid sight of his former home. Had the scientists been wrong? Or had they known all along, that they could not save the world? And then, as Barsch’s mind slowed to a crawl, a horrible thought stole over him.
“Was there even a timer on those pods? Maybe we were supposed to stay there, asleep, until the end of time. Our last thoughts would be ones of hope and trust, forever frozen in place in our naïve minds. Those pods weren’t for our protection… they were coffins, for our preservation…”
With this morose thought in mind, Barsch began to close his eyes. If he had truly never meant to awaken, then perhaps he should just fall asleep, and wait for death. In this way, he would be spared from his grim realisation, and the horrors of the world which had birthed it.
“NO!” he cried, his solemn voice breaking the terrible silence.
He could not let himself die here, without even trying to find the truth. Maybe the scientists had been wrong, or maybe they had known, but that did not change anything. The feeling of the metal grate beneath him, the foul smell assaulting his nose, even the bubbling from the stream, these things told him that he was alive… trapped on a dying world and alone, but alive nonetheless. If he gave up now, he would be shaming his father, and desecrating the memory of his mother, who had given her life for his. What would she say to him, if she found out that he had thrown away the life she had fought so hard to protect?
With a strangled roar, he forced himself to stand and take in the remainder of his surroundings. He had been lying on a large, metal grate, upon which the words, “DISPOSAL CHUTE” had been engraved. Reaching down, he tried to find a groove or handle, but the grate was smooth and immobile. It was clear to him that re-entry, at least through this grate, was impossible. Looking up, he analysed the land, searching for anything that might help.
He was in a valley, with imposing cliffs on three sides and the stream winding its way down the middle. The chute had been placed on a small hill, which quickly ramped up to become the northern cliff. He was a good climber, and could probably scale the cliffs given enough time and patience, but he did not want to risk injury so soon after waking. Instead, he peered to the opposite end of the valley, where the cliffs gave way to miles of rolling hills and dead trees. In the distance, he could just barely make out something… green?
A sudden wave of nausea briefly took his focus away from the impossible sight, and when he had finished retching, he refocused his gaze. He was sure that what he had seen -what he had thought he had seen- must have been a mirage. He was sure of this because no loving creator would torment a soul as lost as him with such false hope.
But there it was: a fleck of green, a smudge of colour on a barren landscape. Somewhere out there, beyond the confines of the valley, there was life.
His legs still stiff and his chest tight, Barsch took his first step, although in this case, it was more of a stumble. Cursing his defrosting body, he tried again, with a little more success. It was unfortunate, but Hope had infected him, tearing reason away from his fragile mind. Without it, he could leave the safety of the valley, and head towards an uncertainty that could be the death of him. His eyes now affixed on the distant speck of green, Barsch began to walk forward, leaving the place of his awakening behind.
Awakening Page 4