IGNEOUS:THE DICTATOR'S SON

PROLOGUE

Like a cornfield, people are everywhere. Like a scarecrow, I remained still.

Static.

 Immobile. 

Unsure. 

Undecided. 

Afraid.

Undecided if I should take another step. Unsure if I still wanted to continue living this morbid life. And afraid of something more horrible that might happen in the future.

As I stood here at the corner of the street, I watch as faces pass by. Many got heavy loads on their cheeks that tells me they can't afford to smile anymore. Some bear weary looks expressing their exhaustion of all the distressing events. Others have their lips pressed tightly together with their hands clutched at their stomachs and I'm guessing that the reason is hunger. A number have agony visible in their eyes like they're stating they've had enough.

But unlike these people, I bear something stronger. An emotion that has been with me since realizing I am capable of having one and understanding why things ended up the way they are.

Hatred.

Hatred for the government's lack of substantial solutions to all the crises we are suffering from! For their stupidity towards decision making and incapacity to respond to their people's needs and cries! Hatred for the previous generations who obviously lived their lives to the fullest that they forgot to care for nature! Now, as the children of their future, we are the inheritors of their being irresponsible and ignorant. And I hate it for I know that I can't do anything with it. I am merely another citizen of the world who hopes and dreams for something better.

I looked up at the -- sky hoping I would see something new and different but it's still the same sky I was born to twenty-one years ago. It's a shade of white that I can't distinguish. I wonder if it looked the same in the past or if it got other colors. If it wasn't as harmful as it is now. I touched my 2 year old face mask which was specialized to prevent me from inhaling dangerous chemicals invisibly scattered in the atmosphere. If not for my deceased father's fortune I might have been one of those who have suffered unknown illnesses or much even worst-death. Nostalgia fills me as I thought of my father. He died in an explosion four years ago.

I looked around me. The feeble sunlight trying to get through the thick clouds is denied by the high degree of the temperature. Dark gloomy colors seemed to be the motif of our dying planet. From the poorly structured old buildings with broken window glasses to the cavity-crowded path walks with numerous dirty garbage littered everywhere. From the patched worn out wardrobes each person wears to the filthy water on the city gutters that emits a very offensive smell. Almost everything is occupied by the dark gloomy colors.

But past the rusty vehicles on the rough asphalt road across the street from where I'm standing there stood the lone thing that is not yet invaded by the melancholic shades. It has long thick brown trunk rooted to the soil with green and yellow leaves sprouting from its branches above. It's already an endangered thing and they call it a tree. They put it there to remind us that we still have hope despite the bad happenings. I wanted to believe but I know that at the current age and state of the earth, hope is just a four letter word. Like the soon to be extinct tree, hope will also diminish in each person's heart .

Still.

Immobile.

Unsure.

Undecided.

Afraid.

But would I rather do nothing and endure all this pain? would I just choose to continue hating the world because of its ugly view and of the coming annihilation?

I felt the wind blew and I witnessed the leaves of the tree dance and sway. No. I won't.

Today, people are in hurry. Almost everyone is busy running errands before the faint amount of daylight disappears in the horizon. I turned my head to see the town clock move its hands.

Four hours before dusk and almost all of the people piling for the mobils have been transported.

Three hours before dusk and the soldiers are still loading some transports .

Two hours before dusk and most of the city has been vacated.

One hour before dusk and I decided to take a step with my prosthetic leg and continue living.

I took the last mobil to the underground bunkhouses together with the sick and old people. We were just 30 miles away from the city when the bombs started raining, creating additional destruction to the already damaged face of the earth. Each explosion echoes its success in destruction by rocking the ground beneath us endless.

This is it.

Another war has begun.

And in this far east of Asia, year 2105, we are Endura the former Philippines or should I say," what's left of the Philippines".