Wow.. I'll have a go at it.
There were parties that night, but I
decided to spend it alone, drinking and
doing drugs on a
forest-like cliff by the sea,
getting as much quiet time as I could and determined to
spend the last day un-drunk. I woke,
covered in vomit and pain as the sun
came up, and
I went to the beach,
enjoying the cool salt breeze on my
dry, wrinked face. As I
thrust my face into the water, I heard a
tin-like cry of joy, and turned in
silent non-belief. A child raced down the beach,
followed closely by her mother. As
people had become such that they hated those who had kids on purpose, births had become
rare. I
feel many emotions: raw fury at
obvious selfishness, an
hurtful happiness, a thousand other
head and heartaches. In the last decade, when it was clear that nothing could
divert the comet’s path, the final gasps of propaganda’s engine (metaphors, I believe) had
bought the message: Don’t Make It Worse. I rose,
fists ready to fight (or balled from stress), but my shout of
disagreement with something I was unable to say. The earth trembled, a passing shock wave under foot.
The earthquake was hours ago, in Asia. ;
The quake traveled all the way around the world to here. The girl was
pulled into her mother’s arms. They looked
peacefully at me,
with green eyes. For a moment, I
came close to having an epiphany, or sudden thought.
Guilt washed in behind the tide of anger. Metaphor connecting the feelings of guilt and anger Then it was gone, and I was empty
[of feelings] at last. “I love you,” whispered the mother, holding the child close. I sighed, and the air grew dim and thick with the onrush of steam. My vision clouded, and I turned to the sea, one final time.
Well, that's the best I can do.