Rings of Ruin

Rolling hills of twisted metal and masonry painted in verdant greens and vibrant rainbows stretched out below a clear blue sky. Rich with life, none of it human. Sixty-eight floors above the ruined world, not a sound was to be heard but the whistling wind as Ash gazed through a cracked windowpane. It seemed impossible that the desolation they looked out upon could have once been a great forest of skyscrapers just like the one they stood in, stretching up into the heavens, each filled at any one moment with more people than Ash had seen in their entire life so far, or likely ever would. Reflecting on humanity’s current excuse for civilisation, they failed to suppress a snort of laughter. Both on the ground and in the skies, it was no more than a pathetic pastiche hardly worthy of the name. A necrophage all too reliant on the mangled and decaying carcass of its progenitor.