WastelandThere were echoing screams of pain and hunger. The land was impoverished. The land had not produced any food for many years. We were cursed, yet we had done nothing to deserve this. We cannot die. We can only wonder around the land that treats us like was have done heinous crimes. All our bodies emaciated, wishing we could exterminate this hunger, this loneliness.
As I lie in my pit of endless wish of death, I cry, a small pool of sorrow digging underneath me. We all were juxtaposed, all thin and all in such pain. We do not believe in being suave. What's the point? We're all suffering and are unable to fill any void with courtesy.
The Angel of Death saunters around us. She is hungry and wanting to feed, but she cannot have that pleasure. She would not be able to give us death's wings.
What have we done to be dissuaded like this? We are innocent people, yet we continue to suffer.
We always forage for food, even though we know we will find nothing. And we always are tentative when someon