Hallowed shells of buildings dot fallow Post-Apocalyptic. The sky rains ash and acid. Lightening jolts scar the land. The red orb sun offers jaundiced radioactive light.
The dying denizens wear rags covered in acidic dust. “It used to be different,” they say telling stories of what once was as they wander searching for dry food.
Angry animals lunge at each other. Birds screech. Fish hide at the bottom of mud pools.
Everyone shivers in the night.
“Take shelter if you can find it in the underground caves,” the Guide advises. “The denizens are not as dangerous as they appear. They are too weary to fight."
Visitors journey to the capitol End Times, a place of prophecies.
In the End Times caves, the nomads find fresh water dripping off the walls. They eat algae and phosphorescent mushrooms.
“No one will live to see much more,” the prophet says. “This is how the world finally comes to an end.”
Wanderers come to End Times palms up asking for readings.
“You are hoping to be told something more than what you already know,” the prophet says. “But there’s only doom, nothing to hope for.”
“Don’t visit,” advises Miss Emeline Traveler. “No parties. No music. No dancing. No fine foods. No next generation. There is nothing left. It is too late. Only the forces of desolation and destruction remain.”
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