Blocking the sun,
Preventing its light and heat
From reaching the ground,
A black cloud has formed,
And is casting the world in darkness.
Time passes by slowly,
But the black cloud, even slower.
Soaring across the sky,
It seems to be endless,
Never letting sunlight seep through,
And never faltering in its steady journey,
Until the whole sky is pitch black,
Despite it still being daytime.
Hours turn into days,
Turn into weeks,
Turn into months…
Turn into years.
It’s been years since I’ve felt the sun touch my skin,
Years since I’ve basked in its warmth.
The grass, plants and even trees around me have long perished.
Lying next to me is the eldest tree:
Well over a millennia years old,
But just as dead as all the others.
It must have survived the most violent of storms,
And the most dreadful of droughts.
It survived when all its peers did not.
It survived everything,
But this apocalypse I am expected to surmount.
By Sophie Dufresne