Water Moniter

A faint breeze stirred the drooping leaves of the stunted trees, the dry, grey-green foliage making a faint slithering sound that melded with the chiming of the little silver bells to create an atmosphere of peace, tranquility and serenity. The effect was not spoiled by the human boy who rested beneath the twisted trunk and sagging branches of one of the larger trees.
He was almost a part of the landscape. Nutbrown skin, nearly white hair standing in a fixed state of frozen flame, from beneath which two icy grey eyes watched the world go by. The face was a frame, angular and finely boned. High cheekbones, a small nose, a mouth that promised dimples should it ever smile. A handsome specimen, in all.

After ten or so minutes he stood, and having picked up the axe and rifle which had been leaning against the tree trunk made his way towards a small stream that ran along the bottom of the gorge. Bells Gorge, he called it, on account of the uncountable number of tiny little bells that hung in the small alcoves that laced the canyon walls, left there by some lost people to remember or recall the spirits of the dead. He knew not what their original purpose had been, nor did he care. All he knew was that they kept him safe, protected him from the Accursed who walked outside.

Upon reaching the stream, he waded into the centre of the flow and began to work his way upstream. He did this for maybe fourteen hours, scouring back and forth across the streambed as he slowly made his way up towards the mouth of the rift, the sounds the leaves, the bells, and the slight swishing of the water around his legs.
Midday came, lighting up the words Water Monitor branded on his back, and midday went, the light of the sun retreating before the shadows of the earth. Across the globe day turned to night, and the scattered creatures of the Burning Wastes became active, going about their business of hunting and foraging, mindful of the abominations that wandered the earth in the dark.
What remained of the moon rose and bathed the plains in its soft white light, beleaguering the darkness that sought to claim the earth wholly and causing it and its disciples to give vent to a belated wail and retreat back to the holes from which they came.
Silence enveloped the land.

At the height of the moon, the boy stopped his wading and climbed up the riverbank, for it was a river now, to lay down his axe and rifle and rest his weary body. Abound him the breeze stirred the leaves, moving the green foliage to a gentle dance. The bells tinkled softly in their alcoves, chiming their sorrow at the departed souls and the ill that had befallen the forlorn remainder of humanity.

The boy sighed. Life just wasn’t worth living if there was nothing to live for. He himself had something, but he was self aware enough to admit that without that thought to hold onto he would probably have walked into the darkness a long time ago.
The screams echoed in his head, over and over, making his eyes smile. People had been so sure that the Accursed couldn’t feel pain, so convinced of their invincibility, that despair had prevailed and they gave up trying to win. When all along it had been staring them in the face.
The screams came again, accompanied by the grinning eyes.
Beyond the Gorge, two Accursed fought over nothing, tearing each other to pieces as the darkness deepened.

Author's Note

This is a piece I wrote off the bat in my Year 11 Literature class when we had a relief teacher taking us. The three main features of the piece, 'Water Moniter', an interpretation of Bell's Gorge, and Apocalypse, were all provided by the relief teacher when I asked her, and I wrote this piece with those three themes in my head.