Maria Reva

“In the cities, building still stood hole. Some new or freshly renovated, some worse for wear but functional, complete with floors, walls, ceilings. When a hand turned on a tap, water poured from it. A flick of a switch, and light flooded a room. The parks also lay whole, grass stretched uninterrupted. Residents lived, and residents died, in balance. Animals too lived and died in balance, mostly inside the buildings; those who roam the streets in search of their owners were few. Beyond the cities, fields. Yellow and brown, pockmarked by farmhouses, sliced by trenches for irrigation. Beyond the fields, sky. A sturdy, solid blue, like a freshly painted ceiling. Not much fell from it yet, the occasional bird. Once, a fragment of comet, catching the breaths of those who witnessed in terror the flash of light -but when it was over, they clapped at the miracle.”
― Maria Reva, Endling