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I apologize beforehand if this story seems a little preachy; I've been reading a lot of Ayn Rand lately and it might be rubbing off.
Normally, I just stick to writing poetry or poetic stories, but I've been trying to write a decent fiction story for a while now and this was the best I've come up with.
The walls come tumbling down and take with them all the history every written on them. All the untold tales that they witnessed and withstood wiped away as they fall.
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock... The sound of a clock. The sound of time. It's so constant. So fixed. It will never change. Time will always keep ticking.
Fluffy clouds. Everyone dressed in white gowns of silk. A peaceful place where no wrong is done. Every one kind, no bullies or murderers allowed. They're all locked out behind the big heaven gates.
What if you're really a thousand years old, but have forgotten most of your life, and your brain is just filling out the gaps with false memories.
The Cripple seemed old and worn off by time and bad fortune, his eyes,once filled with the eagerness for the mercy of a passer-by, were now blank in accordance with the inevitable.
As I stood there surveying the blasted landscape knowing in my soul this is the end, yet finding comfort in that fact, I waited.