Scorched

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The golden nugget shimmers in the dim light, a shining echo of bloodlust and triumph. It lay helplessly, entombed within stubborn soil, held hostage by indifference.

Beside the invaluable nugget, rusted iron strikes rock, shattering the prison and unleashing the beauty onto the dirt surface below. The nugget rolls down the uneven path and collides with a foot so filthy it’s difficult to tell where the dirt ends and flesh begins.

The boy ignores the gold; he’s looking for something else. Something more valuable to his village. Something more important than precious material forged billions of years ago deep within exploding stars.

No. The boy is looking for something that will help sustain the lives of the seventy-three people he calls his family. The boy is looking for the most essential natural resource to modern society.

The boy is looking for clay.

I only know what they tell me.

In 2031, hundreds of “years” before I was ever born, a massive solar flare released by our sun struck the Earth and incinerated the atmosphere. Every living creature on the surface was scorched and only the few who were lucky enough to be underground at the time survived.

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