by Tom Vidar
This is a sketch, a kind of moodboard for a future longer story. Fiction.
|It was the evening of Thursday, the seventh of August 2048 and the sun had almost vanished behind the northern horizon. A faint but golden glow could still be seen, but slowly the sun receded behind the edge of the world, and with it - the refuge of daylight. The endless fields and meadows of The Outmarch were indistinguishable from the cheerless dusk, and in the midst of this vast wilderness was an old dented highway that ran along a quiet river. The road lay at the foot of a long slope of overgrown grass which led to a forest of tall fir trees. Between the high trunks of this particular forest, there lay an ominous darkness which seemed to reach out from above and down the hill. A chill breeze tickled the dull trees and meadows, but the wind was nevertheless voiceless. The silence was only disturbed by the erratic croaks of a lone crow standing on an old sign by the road. Cyrillic letters decorated the sign, but the touch of decades had made them nearly impossible to read.2
Few people ever wandered through these deserted wastelands. Being devoid of any biological diversity, the Outmarch was a hostile environment. Once inhabited by many creatures – both humans and animals – it had now become a hunting ground for predators whose famine has driven them to madness. 3
Travelling downstream along the highway were two men, well equipped for journeying in the wilds. Their pace was slow and cautious, as if they wished not to be seen. Sometimes they would halt for a minute, survey their surroundings and exchange troubled words to each other before picking up their pace again. One of them carried an old hunting rifle on his back. Their faces were bleak, and their purpose far-off.
*Not the end*