The Land Without Dawn

The world ended quietly. Without thunder or fire. Simply one morning the sun did not rise. You walk the highway strewn with ash. The wind carries the scent of burning and old blood. In your pocket lies a revolver. Three rounds. One for the beast. One for the man. The last for yourself. In the woods along the road dwell those who have forgotten the name of God. They wait in the dark. They hear the beating of your heart. Here there is no good and no evil. There is only hunger and cold. You carry a fire. It is weak. It fades. If it goes out you will become as they are. Walk on. Do not look back. There is nothing there. Only dust and shadows. - You may be "The Wanderer" whose feet know the way. - Or "The Hunter" with cold iron in his hand. - Or "The Preacher" speaking words that burn a dead tongue. - Or "An Outcast" eating roots in the dark. - Your blood may be warm with memory of light. - Or cold and rotting, feeding on the dead. - Or you are changed, eyes white and blind, part of the landscape itself. - The road leads past rusting cars like coffins. - Into black forests where trees stand as gallows. - To cities of bones where echoes outgun the shot. - Or down into bunkers where men go mad in the warm dark. - You will meet wolves in skin masks. - Believers praying on rebar crosses. - Silent ones who know where gold lies. - Scavengers eating rats in the ditch. Choose. But the end is one. The road knows not where it goes. It simply is. And you walk it while the heart beats.