Destiny Fiction Producers Writer's Contest

[b][u]The Fall[/u][/b] The world felt inexplicably older, somehow. It's almost funny how quickly society collapses. A millennia of progress, toppled all at once; like some sick, sadistic practical joke played by forces above. It had been weeks since the collapse, and every time I looked up in the sky, I still expected to see the Traveler overhead. But it wasn't. The city used to keep us safe; its walls stood high against the armies of the darkness, and the guardians protected us. Life was simple, predictable, safe. I thought our golden age would never end; but I was naive. It was foolish to believe that the guardians that once kept us safe, could ever truly keep the armies of darkness at bay. A fool, that's what I am. A fool sentenced to wander the wilderness for an eternity, searching for a hope that isn't there. My feet were swollen, my back ached. It had been days since I last saw any resemblance of society. Many of the survivors had set up camps across the wilderness. I heard rumors of a place called the Farm, where many of those who's lives were destroyed by the collapse took refuge. It was a larger settlement, and with it came the promise of starting again. I spied one such camp in the distance. I began to trudge toward it, my feet pulling down on me, telling me that the ground was a much better refuge for the time being. But I continued forward, the blazing heat of the sun bearing down on me. Beads of sweat ran down my face, my eyes fought to stay open. Finally I had reached the camp. It was small, populated by no more than you could count on your hands. I was greeted warmly by an exo who identified himself as Zazz. I never liked the exo. It was something in their faces, like every emotion was cold and calculated; as if you only saw what they wanted you to see. I guess in a way we all wear our own masks. My mask smiled back at the exo. I accepted his invitation, whether out of gratitude or my own selfish lust for rest. I pitched my tent and laid myself out a bed. I was out cold the second my head hit the pillow. In the night I heard a voice. A voice, unlike a human voice. It was a screech. Throaty, angry, hungry. The sound pierced the stillness outside, splitting my ears as I braced myself to drown out the noise. The sound was close and unmistakable. Fallen. I bolted upright. Gathering my belongings as fast as I could. Another ear splitting screech erupted from the approaching fallen. It was closer. I began to stumble around my tent, in a frantic dash to reach for something, anything to defend myself with. My hand touched the stock of my only firearm, a single pistol. It was an older model. Cold and rudimentary, but it would suffice. A third screech ripped through the cloth tent. They were upon the camp. I stepped outside, pistol drawn. My gaze was met with the glow of eyes, too many to be human. The vandal's eyes met mine. He stood still, very still; he looked scared, in an almost human way. Too human. I fired a single round into the vandal's head. Its head evaporated and its soul left its body. It was almost beautiful, poetic in a way, the way the fallen passed on to the next life. There was no cry of agony, no bleeding out miserably on the ground; only release from the cold jaws of this cruel world. I looked down on its lifeless body, satisfied. The screams of the other survivors brought me back to reality. I grabbed my things and bolted out of the camp as fast as my legs would carry me. I didn't look back; I couldn't. When daybreak came I sat down on a nearby rock, my legs screaming for rest. I turned around. Where the camp once stood there was only a whisper of smoke. I let out a sigh of relief. Just then I heard the shuffling of feet. I looked behind me; nothing. I turned back down the road I had started on to be met with a sharp pain in my gut. Suddenly the ghostly form of a vandal began to solidify in front of me. In shock my eyes fell to my stomach, only to be met by a glowing blade lodged in my gut. My body fell limp into the sand. As my last breath left my lungs, I let out a simple prayer; for a simple death, a soul's release from its body, as the fallen. #Finished