There was no man that could survive and say with a perfect amount of honesty he felt what couldn't be described as anything but fear. The beginning could be considered as the worst by the observers. The men and women in the world ran from their homes in great rage and they painted the ground grey making it the mirror of the cold and unforgiving terror of the cruel stare of the sky.
I left my home to see one rose. Its beauty was neither destroyed nor painted the terrible grey. I stared deeply at it. The glory I hoped was going to be everlasting but I was wrong as I saw a man, one of the painters, ignite the rose in a beautiful fire that could have been the final beauty of the world, it died.
Only at night could I see a final beauty. The beauty lived in the stars and moon and the illumination it provided the wasteland. The beauty was also found in the fires of war that burned in the neverending fury of the survivors. When winter came more beauty unfolded as the snow sparkled in the glow of the moonlight. The beauty of the sun was gone though and covered by the greyness of the sky. These beauties were not the beauty of a woman. The beauty of a woman survived only as she did but these beauties didn't end until the black hour came.
Our only happiness was in the memory of the cities and nature that we saw everyday in the past and only now are some of us grateful for those gifts. Only when this glory is stolen will we realize its existence and man will realize their mistakes and our love for the world will only survive in memory and even the children in the early days of innocence and youth can not see any great beauty that exists in the wasteland.
I continued to wander the wasteland and hope was my guide. My eyes were plagued with the sight of war that I was to fight in. Not even the strongest man could say he was not afraid of the world. Death, though, was the least of our fears and we tried to find it, and only some were successful.
The survivors were hardened by the constant poverty and war that consumed the world with its teeth of fire. We all wandered the world with hope of a new world and that hope drove us insane and the insanity drove us to kill.
I expected nothing better than what I had to survive in and when the world had gone mad I stayed resolute and avoided the weakening feelings of fear, hatred and anger. They were though almost impossible to stay away from and I knew that I would soon be killed by the machine of war that drove the world to destruction. I also knew I would probably be unlucky enough to survive until my skin was wrinkled and my hair was grey and when the years kept passing and the black hour drew nearer I saw the world was only becoming worse
I was only a man and with hope as my only friend I wandered the wasteland with no desire to live and I would soon realize that my life is ending and I was getting older and my life was ending. My hair soon grew longer and greyer and my skin began to wrinkle.
As I finish writing this and as I finish die I will tell you to let the gift that few men see be noticed by all before the wasteland comes.
