, , , , , ,

There was once a young boy who got left behind.

He crawled out from the rubble and the dirt and rinsed the grey dust from his skin in pale brown puddles.

He climbed piles of slate and bone to see a new horizon.

Time passed. He had to switch out his boots many times with those of something from one of the piles of the Gone. Then, he stopped needing to.

It was easier to travel now. He wasn’t scared. He knew where he was going.

He’d circled the city enough.

He knew where everyone had gone.

He stood ankle deep in a muddy puddle. Not the same one that had first cleaned the dust from him, but the same thing. The same principle.

He turned from the city and walked.

He kept walking, and walking.

He came to a ledge.

He joined them.