Hope, the light that never goes out. The light at the end of the tunnel. The match that rekindles our burned out candle. Indeed it truly synonymous to the word light. It fills you with warmth, gives chance to the ones who deserve it and even gives life to the lifeless. Hope intoxicates you with belief, giving faith to the helpless. Maybe, just maybe that’s what we need in this difficult times.
The world has come to this now. Ghost towns, drought lands, landlocked cities. It saddens the heart of the few who care for the former, beautiful, evergreen world that they used to live in. Now out here it’s all about survival. Zantar knew this all too well. She took a turn into another street. Just like the previous it was vaguely empty. A few sketchy looking people hanging around old shacks. A common trade people work in to survive. Zantar stopped in her tracks. She picked up a half empty can and ran a finger around the rim of the can. She brought out an index finger coated in a dark brown syrup like substance. Rather than an expression of disgust on her face, it was a happy one instead. She sealed the can and stuffed it in her satchel. For people like her, they survive by scavenging. Leftovers,...