It is desolate.
It is bleak.
It is our woeful world.
There is nothing left in front of me but tarnished bones... My tarnished bones. My eyes feel nothing and see only an undefined landscape. A pewter piece of scenery.
I am thinking in verse, which is quite unusual. Also, bones? When did I see bones? Why is my vision distorted and my sense of touch diminished?
YOU ARE READING
Contours of a Skeletons' Psyche
Science FictionIn a post-apocalyptic world, the skeletons of those deceased are reanimated without reason. They struggle with their newfound inability to die and the extreme changes in the world around them and themselves.
