The Fortune of Abaddon

         Within the little crevice of two great ruined structures, collapsed upon themselves, a strange man sleeps. His head bruised and a great puddle of dried blood beside him. His body covered from head to toe with tough clothing and thin steel plates sewn within. A helmet with the shape of a kettle lay beside him, half cracked. What was once a long tube of steel fashioned upon a wood stock was shattered underneath the rubble which miraculously failed in crumpling upon him. The strange man was young and strong, his face seemed chiseled from stone and his hair was a light sandy brown. A small pocket watch lay on the outside of his person, on the inside of which there was a picture masked by a thick dust.

         The strange, young man began to stir in his sleep and with each grain of dust that began to fall from above his head, he would gain consciousnesses. His small brown eyes opened to the surprise of falling dust and the only word emitted from him was a groan of pain as his head throbbed and pulsed with new blood. The rubble above him groaned as well with the slow sliding of the what was once concrete structures. The man's eyes were blinded by the fresh but dusty light of the yellowish orange hue light of the sun. His back cracked loudly as he braced himself upwards and turned his head in observation. Not a word passed from him as he looked through the crevice, which was miraculous proof of his salvation. He coughed loudly as he found the dust of the concrete was growing too thick and that all around him on his three other sides there was nothing but rubble. He tore himself free from the improvised tomb, clawing away at the cobble like concrete that was crushed by the structures long past destroyed.

         He breathed the fresher air in like it was the first breath of a new born. All around him, as he could see, there was nothing but rubble and destruction. The light of the sun was only a small taste of a forbidden luxury as the inlets of light were shut off by the thick grey clouds looming overhead. Around the man there seemed to be nothing but ruined buildings and shattered concrete, but now there was nothing but horror. All around there was the remains of hundreds, thousands of dead. The dead were all clones, replicas of himself in clothing and equipment. The piles and walls of bodies were burnt, mutilated or torn. Grizzly scenes could be noted as those of different colored clothing and race could be seen grappling one another; a knife in a stomach or even a rifle used as a club against another.

         The strange man began to shiver and cry out of horror of what he saw, his knees shaking and his voice breaking. But his fears ceased when he heard rattling along with him the small pocket watch, neatly latched onto a loop of his belt. Brushing off the thick glaze of dust the man saw a familiar scene; a family of moderate appeal. A young man and woman with a child in her arms. It is a beautiful picture that not a single person on the fair Earth could not look upon and smile. That is except for the strange man who looked upon it after so long a time. But his time of mourning was cut short by the disturbance of his concrete region, the banging of thin metal falling onto the hard ground. The man looks around in dumb confusion for the source of the racket and is successful but in horror realizes the sight before him.

         Creeping out of the living shadows of the alleyway behind the corner to his right, the man sees a black wolf emerge from its burrow and in all its terrifying power its growls and sneers at the man. Barking it lunges at him in a frenzy, the man dropping the watch flees from the wolf. He flees with such strength and speed after so long an injury that the wolf begins to lose him, but the beasts determination is great and the creature does not let a single step go unmatched. The man soon finds himself out of the ruins of what was once a great city, his feet flying over the craters of bombs and shells. He trips only once at a distance from the wolf when he found himself in the drowned trench of the battle, the corpses of ten men around him. But with desperation he forced himself free from the mud and confines of the bodies before the wolf, though close, could bite down upon him.

         The horrors of war and humanity were placed before him as he saw the aftermaths of such gruesome battles. A great hill in the distance built entirely from the bodies of fighting men where at the top stood a torn flag. Skeletons of men covered with green dust in foxholes, their eyes completely gone from their faces. The man soon began to fatigue as he left the battlefields, his legs giving out on him. But to his salvation he found that the wolf had quit its chasing. The deserts of combat and death were soon replaced by the woods and meadows. A very kind grassland that had managed to escape the terrors of War, made a great spot for the man. However to such dismay the man felt his life beginning to fade. Black blood spilling from his mouth in torrents as he fell over upon the ground. The exhaustion of his new existence took its final toll upon him as he looked into the sky.

         Then it was over. The man was dead. Through the shadows came the wolf and to such surprise it did not attempt to attack the dead man nor devour him. Instead it placed its head upon him and began to pout. What was once man and beast was now merely beast. The last man that was alive now lay dead, the rare shining rays of the sun, peeking through the thick dusty clouds, cast themselves upon him. The creature which would destroy nature and all that was created was now dead and yet nature did not seem to be correct. Something was missing, and that something was gone forever.