The rose – the last remnant of life in a world of darkness. A symbol; of what used to be, of what should have been. What happened here, gone but not forgotten.
The ruins of what used to be a great city stood around it; crumbling buildings gave their last effort, to remain in memory of their former dignity. They sat, colourless giants bowing to the whims of time. The pain and suffering never left, always right there, beside you.
The rose’s bloody radiance cast a mourning shadow upon the cracked concrete. Devastation permeated the very fibre of existence. Sickly brown smoke blanketed the sky, guarding against the life-giving rays of the sun.
A single abandoned doll lay helplessly, slumped against a wall, staring blankly at the drop of red blood slowly sliding down the delicate petals of the rose.
The rose was nestled within a crack in the tarmac, its roots reaching out, through the parched soil to absorb the little remaining moisture. The piercing silence almost deafening and the stillness blinding.
A storm breaks out, unleashing the power of the heavens onto the wasteland below. The resounding boom of thunder, echoing through the emptiness and the light patter of rain upon the charred, lifeless earth are the only sounds beside that of silence. It is almost as if the spirits of the underworld have risen and taken the earth for themselves. Dark magic spinning through existence and suddenly appearing right here, right now, feeding the storm. Making it unbearably powerful. The elements completely ruled the earth, deciding its fate.
On the face of the doll, beneath its eye, a single raindrop landed, looking suspiciously alike to a tear sliding down a cheek. It had watched the transformation of a world from a bustling centre of knowledge to a shadow of its former glory.
Countries consumed by fire and brimstone. A Great War divided the world; the very components from which life formed, manipulated to unleash untold destruction. A reign of terror and hatred ensued. Centuries of growth demolished in moments, unearthly beings created to fight a never-ending war, leaving nothing but ruins in their wake.
The rose – the last remnant of life in a world of darkness. A symbol of what used to be, of what should have been. What happened here, gone but not forgotten.
Written By: Jaccques Amsel, Mateo Kuesel, Dineo Luescher & Oliver van Helden