Interface

Mila

The tall grasses rustle around the clearing our campsite is in, and I hope that it is the wind, and not something more sinister. With our luck, it will be some sort of plague covered abomination, covered in festering boils and sores, some atop of others, and the beast will emerge through the confines of the vegetation and through the fire in order to spread it's disease onto new hosts.
I'm snapped from my thoughts when I hear a branch crack under an impressive weight in the distance. Mara also raises her head to look in the direction of the noise's origin, and I take advantage of her distraction to observe what happened to her wrist- and apparently, most of her forearm.
Mara is sitting across the fire and tending to her wrist, which has turned an ugly mixture of green, gray, purple, and yellow. I think it is broken, and I feel a stabbing guilt that I couldn't prevent her injury- or at least lessen the impact of it.
In the distance, I can hear the distant crackle of flames as the abandoned city spits forth another white hot tongue of fire into the midnight sky.
Mara glances over at me before moving so that she is barely a few inches away.
I can feel her body temperature warming the air between the two of us, and I shiver at the thought of how cold I must feel to her.
The grass rustles again, and I have a sinking feeling that it is something far bigger than a harmless breeze.
Perhaps it's a ferocious creature with fire-filled eyes and slavering mandibles that clash together like tinny thunder.
Mara reaches for her weapon, and brings it up to shoulder level, as if she's playing sticky bull, like I used to play with Dip...
Just the thought of Dip is enough to make me tear up, and I wonder what ended up happening to them. Have they truly disappeared  from my life? If they are alive, then I want to run to them, curl into a ball, and yell at the world for daring to separate us.
Before I can express any of my grief by screaming, sobbing, and curling up on the floor, the grass explodes with a flurry of frantic- almost animalistic- movement, and Mara swings the pipe with deadly precision.
The pipe makes contact with the culprit of the movement, and they collapse to the ground in a motionless heap.
We both ogle the mound of rancid furs suspiciously, before Mara works up the courage to walk up and kick it.
The figure rolls over- revealing a small, stocky man, with a pronounced forehead and fat nose. I back away from him, worried that he will hurt us, or worse, kill us.
Mara stoops to check the man's pulse, and I take the opportunity to run, sprinting away through the tall grass so that Mara can't catch me. I'm not sure what she would do if she catches me, but I don't wa
Where will I run?
Back to the city that has probably burned to ashes by now?
Back to the house of the woman that Mara killed?
Back to the place that I used to call home?
All of those places have been corrupted by outside influence, and the influence of Mara herself.
The only way to move is away from all the past memories.
I keep running forward through the labyrinth of grass and trees, my chest heaving due to the unusual exertion I'm putting on my heart and lungs.
Eventually, I find a small hollow that is conveniently me-sized, and I slip inside the sandy depression in the earth to wait for dawn.
In the distance, I hear crickets and other creatures of the night.
They sound so calm and free of concern, and I feel envious of their easy lives.
Why should they live easily when they have done nothing to deserve it?
They should feel more fear, more respect towards the daily possibility of dying.
Instead, they sing infuriatingly simple little songs, ones that promise an easy life of plenty and fertility. But I know that these lying hymns are a mere cloak to disguise the horrific abominations against nature that call these new lands home.