text: The Peace Revivors were down to their last soldier, but anybody still alive would agree it was a lost cause. Even he himself knew that the hopeful were fools. It wasn’t the total anarchy that killed their leader, but the excessive pollution. The former leader, a strong woman from what used to be Australia, was weakened by her asthma and inability to breathe from the waste in the air that the wars had caused, ironically. How she survived so long with asthma while those with stronger lungs perished, those who believed in God may have said it was His work. But, if alive, they certainly don’t believe anymore. But he tried, if only to give him the strength to not lay in the open clearing, with lead fire raining upon it. Instead, he ran from the bullets, narrowly escaping into a dead woods, a cave nearby. He knew it was only a temporary rest. He knew full well that they would come for him soon. That he shouldn’t be in a cave with no other escape besides the one behind him, but he stayed nonetheless. As he sat against a cave wall, he sobbed quietly into his hands. Well, tried to. His tears wouldn’t even fall anymore; he was too dehydrated. Nevertheless, his chest heaved, his body ached, and his throat and eyes yearned for clean water that he hadn’t had in a very long time. He cursed God as he pulled his head up, looking at the ceiling, to find spikes, dripping filthy water down onto the cave floor. Upon further inspection, those weren’t spikes. And that wasn’t water. They were bodies, corpses somehow suspended by their throats, thick ropes hanging from the stone, wrapping around their necks like snakes. Blood came from open wounds on their skin; he knew some were recent. He turned his head away from the gruesome sight. He groaned in frustrating grief, wondering how many of his old teammates, friends, family were hanging from the top of the cave. “If they were killed by anyone but their own hand, they would be full of lead.” The sickening thought struck his brain like the bullets he wished would have pierced him in the field. He looked back up, but it looked a little different, as one may say. The sight before was truly sickening, yes, but this was infinitely more terrifying. They were no longer lifeless, not even emotionally; far from it. They were grinning, bright, blue eyes boring into his cold, dead ones, bloodshot from lack of sleep and hydration. “Come die with us.” It sounded like a thousand voices, and yet none of their mouths moved. They just kept staring, grinning, almost cartoonishly. “I... Can’t.” He croaked. He hadn’t spoken in a while; his voice came out hoarse. “I have responsibilities, a world to save.” He knew that was a lie, the world was taken long ago. The animals were dead, and the plants were brown and dry. Deserts littered what used to be rainforests. He swallowed, his throat looking for something, anything to relieve the pain it felt. None was given; it felt like he was swallowing sand, the taste of metal between his cheeks. Never moved, their pupils turned into black birds, flying from their widening eyes, like the silhouettes of fowl, free against the sun and beautiful, blue sky he missed so much. They darted between trees, soaring almost idly, like it was something they’ve always done. Like something they’ll always do. The voices spoke again, this time sounding much more soothing, like a mother’s heartbeat against her newborn’s ear. It was water against his parched throat. “Come fly with us.