《The Decay at the End of the World》


 Water

    A horn sounds in the distance. Something is off about its call. It crunches like breaking bones are part of its mechanism.


    A shadow looms precariously over your location, a misshapen monolithic figure tottering through and over the landscape. Its passage rearranges the surface of the earth like a drunken child scribbling with a marker.


    The screams that echo outside of your shelter begin again, sending you scurrying for safety while you cover your ears. You''ve seen what happens to those who listen too closely to the voices.


    You slowly count an hour in your head as you wait for them to leave.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Your thirst begins to hurt your throat and you grimace at the thought of sourcing water. After a ten minute hike, the many gibbering mouths that grow on the cliff face reveal themselves. Their spit is your only source of potable water.


    Your stomach rumbles. You''re not ready to face that particular chore right after the mouths. You ignore it and head back to your lean-to.


    The screams are back. They''re closer now. You know they''ve caught your scent.


    You run. A voice in the back of your mind tells you that letting them catch you would be easier. Less horrifying in the long run.


    The stupid animal part of your brain screams at the fear of death and your legs pump faster.


    You hear them falling farther and farther behind.


    You survive. For now.

 Food

    It''s been days since the screams chased you from your safe shelter. You know you can''t go back. They aren''t easily dissuaded by a simple lack or presence or scent for a few days. You may never be able to return to that tiny hole in the wall that you called safe.


    The horn still sounds every day. You aren''t sure if the crunching of the bones is truly louder each time or if that''s just your imagination.


    You haven''t eaten in almost a week. It''s time to return to the fields. Your stomach cheers at the thought. Your mind rebels. It tells you that you can''t do this. Not again.


    There''s only one source for food that won''t immediately drive you insane or poison you. The fields. The endless, nightmare fields.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    You hear the cries long before they come into view. Wails of children that will never grow, never reach adulthood.


    Their eyes are open the whole time you harvest them. Their wails of neglect turn into crescendos of pain as you pluck them from the vines that grow them.


    Your mind continues to tell you how wrong this is. You know that without them, you will die. Even this atrocity is not beyond you in a world gone mad. You roast each one over the fire, covering your ears and averting your eyes until their screams mercifully end.


    You haven''t eaten in almost a week. Each bite brings tears to your eyes for how delicious they are, and your heart mires you further and further into a hollow shell that might eventually accept this existence.


    Until then the nightmares haunt you far beyond the screams or the gibbering mouths.


    This is hell made flesh.


    This is the end of humanity.


    You know that you will eventually join the monsters that surround you every day.

 Sky

    The sky weeps blood here. Ever since the Change. It never rains. Rain implies a gentle shedding of tears from the sky.


    Here it weeps.


    The ugly crying of a sky mourning the death of the world it presides over. It has watched the decay of the earth like a man forced to watch the death and dismemberment of his loved ones. It has cried tears of blood ever since.


    The landscape is dyed a permanent rusty brown of dried blood. Flakes break off with each step, sending puffs of dust into the sky with it.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The horizon is choked with the shed blood of the skies tears.


    You wake to the sobs of its thunder.


    Many faceted faces form in the sky as its tantrum continues.


    You shiver in the cold as the blood blankets your body.


    You still haven''t found new shelter since the screams chased you from your last abode. You hope to change that today. You''ve seen a shattered ruin that looks promising. If its not filled with the screams or the darkness you might be able to find some measure of protection.


    It is your only hope.

 Sustenance

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 Graveyard

    The corpses lie in rows across the matted and festering grass. At the end of each row grows what you could only describe as a tree, if forced. However, growing down from each tree is a saggy, bulbous tube, positioned over the head of the first corpse in the row.


    Suddenly, the trees simultaneously convulse, letting out a miserable retching sound. From the openings of the tubes a clear, yet rancid, liquid splashes out sloppily.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    With gasps of delight, the first corpses in each row wake up, greedily swallowing the liquid over several more dousings. After the trees are done, the corpses sigh contendedly before twisting their heads to repeat the regurgitation onto their closest neighbors.


    When they are done, one by one, each row locks eyes with you, manic grins stitched on each of their faces.