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captainhu99Five years after the civil war occurred, I finally arrived at the place my late father mentioned. Armed with a map and minimal supplies, I found myself in a desolate desert rumored to hide a great treasure, a wealth that my father failed to obtain. At least, those were his last words before he died. In this broken world, I suppose it is the only thing left that can give me a purpose.
It feels like I have been walking in this desert for several days. My food and water supplies are depleted, along with my dwindling spirit. The rumors I heard were true. Many others have tried to find what I am seeking. No, they did not fail—they died. They died buried in the sandstorms, leaving behind their hands that I now pass by, as if trying to grasp my feet.
I can hardly believe I finally reached the coordinates indicated on the map. It turns out this map has led me to a town that seems long dead. Slowly, I began to explore the town. Oddities started to appear. Doors tightly shut in uninhabited buildings, papers scattered on the streets, and hands along the way still accompanying me.
When I reached the center of the town, suddenly, the hands buried in the ground all pointed in the same direction. They pointed towards a telephone booth that looked clean, without dust. Slowly, I approached the booth. It seemed like those hands were truly guiding me to something. At the same time, the coordinates on the map my father gave me turned out to be a phone number. Is this what has been sought all this time?
Slowly, with hesitation, I dialed the number into the telephone.
"tooooooooot"
"tooooooooot"
"toooooooot"
Ah, what was I thinking? Who would answer the phone in this ruined world?
"Finally, you called, Arya."
"I've been waiting for you in hell, my child."
2024-06-08 11:56:07 +0000