Embers of Hope.

The moonlight showered dull rays across the plains of what had once been, what was and what would be.

I am ready to move through this chapter and into the next”, a young frail woman whispered to herself as she surveyed the burnt lands spreading vastly from the isolated perch among the mountains where she dangled her feet and light frame, gambling herself to infinity.

A new age had come and the previous had rusted at last into what history remained, safeguarded by those who sought to bring knowledge and tradition back into a darkened world when the last vestiges of barbarity and destruction had passed away into the winds of eternity.

She was in the land of the north, what remained of it at this point. Hellfire had consumed most of the regions of our once beautiful Earth. Poison clung to the life sustaining air. Water evaporated and was sparse through the safe havens where many had fled the great inferno, deep within the mountains.

Those that remained of us either clung together and attempted to rebuild a long forgotten society, reverting back to the ages of hunters and farmers, never being able to truly feed the bellies of their young entirely. Others, like ghosts, haunted the forests and dry lands. Feeding on the weak and unaware. What remained of a once great nation was nothing more than ashes.

Enormous buildings and ancient machines littered the county. Their purpose unknown to the new generation, the old generation still trying in vain to forget, they were relics now, of what could have been, but those were different times.

“She saw it through and through, always knowing the sky was blue. That the earth was green and once even clean. That the air we breathed was our safeguard, in a long lost dream. That the fire that forged the earth anew, was our own doing. This much is true”. She sang a nursery rhyme that her mother had taught her at a young age as she cradled her and stroked her hair before they fell asleep amongst the earth, watching the stars from underneath the smoke and dust clouds.

Her mother had passed the previous season from a cough, one that grew and grew and grew. There was no medicine of science and they had little knowledge of the herbs that had once been the source of all remedies.

A tribulation. Creators way of smiting us down when we had gone forgotten that which was eternal and infinite. Our own doing, one of greed, power and forgetfulness. The simple matter of the fact was that history repeats itself with sincere conviction.

Lessons are meant to be learnt and respected, not forgotten and rejected. For it all comes full circle and insanity is repeating the same mistake over and over again, until there is no more room for error.

The elders that remained told stories of war. Famine. Disease. Loss. Bitterness. Yet as the young woman looked over the disastrous landscape, she couldn’t help but feel love, empathy and forgiveness.

She felt love for the trees, that still continued to grow, despite the poison that was fed to them through the soil.

She felt empathy for the dust that carried so many of her ancestors blood, sweat and tears as it was carried to the four corners by the strong winds.

She felt forgiveness. For those that had caused this very moment. For if they knew the long term repercussions, would they have continued their mindless and destructive ways?

She felt connected to it all. Feeling the pain of those before her, burnt up and slaving away for a forgotten concept of “pay”. Understanding the broken down peace that had evolved into mechanical and systematic violence.


There it was. What her mother had called her. The young woman had often asked her mother what the word meant, but when she heard it, it sent shivers down her spine, butterflies through her chest and warmth into her heart.

“It means that which you are sweet little bee, the future of what is and shall be”.

What is and shall be, throughout the tattered and dire Earth, hope is what there is, hope is what shall always be.

To build anew. Breathe life into the dead and unseen. Hope is the ingredient to push forward when there is nothing within reach.

Many paths. Many ways forward. Beyond the mountains. Beyond the sanctuary her family and clan had built. There was hope.

As she arose from her trancelike state, meditating on the past, present and future. She realized that there was only one way forward. Only one way to capture the essence that called her out into the infinite horizon.

Fear of the unknown. Of the dry and inhospitable lands that people told stories of to scare the young and old alike. Where brothers and sisters tore one another apart for a single grain of rice. Where the very air could choke you and leave you feeling as though you were on the verge of demise.

For where there is fear, there is power. Only you can choose to grow and blossom into a vital flower.

The young woman saw herself in her minds eye wandering broken roads. Hiding from men atop steel beasts and casting death from their hands and toes. At last however, she saw a great forest. One on the other side of the mountains where the mountains lay and her people were nourished.


“HOPE, come back now. The fire is warm and the stew is ready. It’s getting very late and the field won’t weed itself in the morning, I need you!”

Her father called her, most likely he had been calling her for quite some time now as she was lost in her lucid dreamscape.

She picked herself up from the perch where she thought and devised.

As a single tear emitted from her right eye.

“I shall bring you hope.” She whispered to herself before hurrying up the path cut through the trees where her father waited for her.

“Let us go home, my sweet little bee” her father said to her softly as they embraced, wandering up the hill the join the rest of the tribe.

We bring hope. We bring despair. It is what you choose to carry in your own personal air.

Sending you light through love,


Categories Personal Thoughts, short storyTags , , ,

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