Jo’s Find
Ash filtered through the air from the scorched sky. The land for miles was a wasteland. Detritus of a forgotten word lay so thick you could not see the earth. Jo’s boots crunched thoughtlessly over forgotten objects. A grandfather clock with a shattered face, a solitary slender arm, still circling. A testament to the craftsmanship of its creator. A porcelain doll now limb-less, it’s unblinking stare witness to untold horrors. Jo marched on, ignorant to the memories being ground underfoot. Jo was looking for items useful now. What good was a clock in a land devoid of time? There was only the endless grey day now, the monotony broken only by the torrential acid rains. Jo bent double to examine a small shovel. Now this could be useful. Picking up the dusty shovel at the same time as dropping her pack, Jo didn’t notice at first she was unearthing a gravesite.
