Frankie Clark, Suffolk New College

The orange sands covered what was left of my tattered leather jacket. All that I could see was the foreboding orange mist.

As I slowly etched forward to what looked like the last building in sight in all Las Vegas, I see it…

All that’s left in the barren wasteland of Las Vegas, an old, decrepit hotel stands tall amongst the monstrous landscape, engulfing that which comes close to it.

What else lies within nuclear winter land of Las Vegas?

Marble statues that would tower over anyone or any building in its prime. Now laid to waste by time itself. Gigantic marble body parts laid strewn across the orange landscape like a serial killer’s lair.

I could barely see more than that with how the sand camouflaged remnants of the once thriving civilisation.

All I could hear was the whistle of the sand dancing in the wind. Nothing out there, just me and the sand on my lonesome road.

Somehow, the sand and mixture of marble, gravel had breached its way into my boots that enclosed my blistered feet. The kind of blisters that you get from wandering and wandering, with nowhere to go, and no purpose. No gods, no kings only man remains as time slowly marches on. It makes you realise just how insignificant you are once you’re truly alone, and it makes you realise that life marches on even if you are not part of it.

Once I had finally made it to the hotel, the building looming over me, the windows were barricaded using old corrugated sheet metal. Nothing could be seen through it but the light shining from somewhere in the building.