The Visionary of a Post-Apocalyptic Era (#38 picture it and write)

It was barely a week after the Apocalypse had destroyed most life on Earth. The ground was scorching in scattered places that had come to be called Hotspots. The survivors did not know where they could safely walk. So, they didn’t.

The weeks that passed drained their food and water, and nothing new would grow. Smoke rose from the land, adding to the people who felt lost. Everyone stayed sequestered in their cities and villages. The thirst drove a few to wander, and burn, when they stepped on a Hotspot.

One day, the people glimpsed a man who had ventured far beyond the city limits. Their warning cries were either unheard, or ignored. By now he had stepped on the unstable bridge that bordered the next city. In the middle of particularly thick smoke, he disappeared.

The people who had witnessed this soberly gathered the rest of their group to see who was missing. The realisation hit them sorely even though they barely knew him. At this point, any person lost was another step towards extinction. They sadly pondered how far he would make it.


A handful of days dragged on, before the bridge felt more footsteps. This time there were dozens of sets and the familiar one felt heavier. The sun hit its peak, as the man returned, weighed down with food and water, followed by what resembled a marching line of people.

As they got closer they looked like they were doing a slow, synchronised dance, each one just a little later than the person in front of them. Their path zigzagged across the bridge, but stayed connected. They eventually arrived at the debilitated doors of the building where the city’s people were huddled, most of them at the edge of dehydration. The man dropped the produce and refreshments before their feet, and though he couldn’t see their half-deranged smiles of gratitude, he felt their relief in every other sense. For the first time in a long time, he did not feel like he was missing something, being blind.

He had not felt more lost when the smoke had risen. After knowing darkness and loneliness all his life, he could finally “see” something the others couldn’t. The nearly imperceptible whistling of a Hotspot at close range.



A Survivor


14 thoughts on “The Visionary of a Post-Apocalyptic Era (#38 picture it and write)

  1. A couple of good ideas in here with the hotspots and the one guy who can see them. I like the smoke too. I think pretty much everyone else wrote fog, right? Good job with the prompt!

  2. Sweetness is in the fingers that type work like this and never explain or apologize because you think you have written in a certain way. You are not being cryptic at all. Cryptic would be more like this: “The weeks that passed drained their food and water, and nothing new would ever grow.” (GOOD). “Weeks passed draining all food and water stores and circumstances so dark made new growth an impossibility.” (I keep your meaning and dip into the readers morbid senses of basic survival). Anna, you think you are cryptic but I see passion instead. Keep it coming.

    • “circumstances so dark made new growth an impossibility” makes me curious. And I might have considered literal darkness combined with the heat if the picture had been darker. I appreciate your view of my (not) being cryptic. It’s nice to get different perspectives.

      • Anna, Wis I had my picture (blck & Wht.) I took from te near distance of the enry Hudson Bridge across the Spuyton Dugvil Creek on an early rainy fog-filled morning. Almost the same as your pic. If I find it I’ll send it to you.

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