The King of our kin, The God of our dreams

Fury and flame sheathe the being

from an ever perpetual doom

of recognition

of a countenance, an embodiment

Awakened one day

the being finds its gait

only to discover that he, too, is just a man

Eros and Thanatos

Uhm, the story's not exactly finished. Kafka would be proud.

                The winds here often crash down in spiralling formations, wreaking havoc upon the village and its constituents. Many try to predict these violent monsters, incapable of reason or direction, and flee toward distant caves when assured of their arrival. Failure is often met as these caves house many unfriendly creatures. These winds cannot be predicted nor controlled, much like the spontaneous death of the crushed or fallen. Others try and fail; a consequence of them being human. All that's left is to endure the cracking of the wind's transparent whips and to bear their crusades until our eyes discern no more. 

               Living upon these wind-stricken knolls is a small town known as Desperatus. Much like its name implies, Desperatus is a lost society formed by the last of our kin and carries little hope. Many suffer cruel deaths while the rest cling to survival, slowly sliding toward an inevitable demise, and in the process, suffering irremediable burns from life's tattered rope.  All have been scarred and traumatized in some way, left with nothing but desperate struggle for every breath. Once welled within us was the hope that our descendants would discover a way to live beyond these perilous hills; to not have to settle with survival. To live! The days wane on and possibility of our old dream wanes with it. The mortality rate of our brethren is crippled beyond repair. Poor nutrition and scathing conditions keep us from attaining any speckle of health. All that's left is lament and regret...

                And so the tale begins. Waking up from a deep sleep I see a brighter today; the sun's rays bathing my face in gold. Such is unusual and the thought of warmth excites me. Quick on my feet I proceed outside. My eyes blister before the golden globe's flooding rays. The warmth and even slight hesitation I experience from this unexpected light floods my mind with nostalgia and happiness. It's been months since our village received such a blessing. Tears roll down my face. Shouts of excitement spill forth. I'm not alone. Many of my neighbours can be heard celebrating the arrival of this burning globe. An old friend approaches; a powerful spark erupting within his eyes.

                "Winston, Winston! Can you believe this? -we're saved!" Granger, my friend, shouts in excitement.

                "Th-This is beyond what I could have ever dreamed of. The sun's even brighter than last time. And look, no wind! We might actually be saved this time. We may once more have hope."

                As the two of us stare into each other's eyes, Granger speaks up, urging me to join him in attending the assembly hall to hear our leader profess what to make of this. Many others soon join in our path to whom we owed our allegiance to. 

                Stoneman presided over what little had survived this world. He was a fearless man who calculated the survival of the village with icy precision. If rations were low someone was bound to be cut off in favour of the women and children. Stoneman didn't do this out of love or pity. He did this out of a sense of duty in reintroducing a new population to this world. Like many of us, he held much doubt in our race's survival, but possessed a conviction no other man could parallel — to try and find a miracle, no matter the odds. 

                As Granger and I finally took sight of the assembly hall, sickness flooded my mind. Despair, sadness, hopelessness... This impromptu day, while beautiful and reassuring, was no different than the last. Nonetheless, hope pervades every human being, no matter the circumstances. If you're cornered by a sharp-toothed beast, you carry hope — hope that you'll escape. Reason, on the other hand, would lead you to understand your circumstances. You're not getting out. The beast will rip you to shreds. That sliver of hope, that sliver of golden salvation you so desperately cling to, from abroad the dark and murky caves of fear; it's poison to the mind — poison to the mind of those aware of reality's barren face. Granger, me, the others — we're all poisoned with hope. With hope these days, bathed in golden brilliance, might carry us through our strife. I look Granger in the eyes once more. He meets mine with an equally powerful conviction — we must still try, no matter how sick our reason or how ill our hope may make us. There is always a way. At least, that is what Stoneman told us.