Fallout

-unknown-

An alien wind blows across a lonely strip of barren desert. Heat-baked dunes of reddish sand stretch onward in all directions, small mountains jutting up against a toxic yellow sky, in which a large orange sun has begun its descent. The air smells of things undiscovered and potentially dangerous, things not meant to be seen.

Alone in a single shadow, things wait for the sun to set so that they may be released to hunt their quarry. There is impatience among them, but they know that to move too soon means death from exhaustion. This is their native land; they understand the dangers of exploration during the day. So until night they remain hidden by the dark behind a dune and wait.

-discovery-

Something stirs on the edge of the horizon. A lone figure, it appears, staggering in the stifling weather. At first seeming no more than a speck against the sky, it grows closer, shuffling slowly across the wasteland. The things in the shadow come to attention—it has been long since they have found such easy prey.

The figure draws nearer, and the things see that it limps, working hard to remain upright on its two spindly legs. It stumbles and falls, sliding out of sight down a neighboring dune. The things stay still. They understand patience, the method of waiting out the daylight hours.

Time passes, and once again the figure draws into view, this time atop the nearer dune. Covered in reddish sand, to any other eyes it would be hard to distinguish from the rest of the desert, but the waiting creatures have been born and bred here for years. The desert is their native land: they know what is and is not a part of it. This new being is certainly not of their home.

-fear-

The elders murmur in worry, softly, so as not to disturb the younglings capable of sleeping through most everything, even the heat of the day. “What is it?”

“We wait.” The chief elder’s proclamation, greeted by harsh responses.

“It’s late enough.”

“The thing is hurt—no harm to us.”

“It does not know where it is going.”

“We do not know what it is!”

Again the chief elder says simply, “We wait.”

The others quiet, so that once again the wind can be heard, moving grains of sand up the side of one dune only to reach the summit and tumble down the other face. The only difference is that this time, hushed whispers ride the wind, increasing as the mysterious figure treks on, inexorably coming closer to their shadow with each labored step.

­-recognition-

The creatures gasp as one as the being tops the closest dune, and its figure is undoubtedly clear. “Do we still wait?” an impatient one asks, aghast.

The chief elder remains firm in his resolve. “We still wait.”

Whispering more loudly now, the creatures survey the new creature that faces them. Tired, worn, dirty, and broken…still, its figure is familiar. The being atop the dune bears an uncanny resemblance to the shadow-dwellers.

And, as the being’s eyes open wide with shock, as it stumbles haltingly down the dune where they have been sheltering, the creatures know that they have been spotted, and that the other thing is just as startled as they are by their likeness.

-denial-

“It is one of us,” the chief elder says.

“No!” one of the people says.

“It cannot be! See its skin, its size.”

“It is not!”

“Fools!” the chief elder yells at them. “I say it is one of us!”

But the people have stopped listening to their leader. Instead, the shadow-dwellers now listen to no one, intent on the solitary being’s approach.

It is now a few lengths from their guarding shadow. The shadow-dwellers hiss angrily, forming a protective barrier around their patch of darkness. Younglings awake to the noise and whimper, confused, while the chief elder tries to restrain his disobedient people.

The being pauses on the edge, then unsteadily crosses the line between light and dark.

­-destruction-

The shadow-dwellers surround and attack the newcomer, their teeth and limbs doing it irreparable damage. Within seconds the creature is down, covered in sand-coated blood. It breathes in a slow, feeble breath, then lets it out. The shadow-dwellers stand back and watch, but the creature breathes no more.

The shouts of the elders go unheard. Surrounding the carcass, the shadow-dwellers fight with each other over which of them will have first choice of its flesh. Their younglings, smelling a new kill, are quieted by the promise of food.

-sorrow-

The chief elder stands apart from the fighting, far back within the shadow. “It was one of us,” he says quietly, but only the harsh desert wind hears him.

So, what do you think? This was a spur-of-the-moment write, but I liked how it turned out and I’m curious as to what others think. It’s supposed to be a little ambiguous...but I also have an explanation for it, in my head, if anyone really wants to know. Please review! I return the favor.