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The Last Language
The world had ended without the courtesy of fire or bang. Instead, it starved itself to death, slowly, quietly, until those who survived forgot the sound of laughter. Cities were rubble, their windows like empty eye sockets. Bended metal like skeletons gnarled and aimless spread themselves across hills of powdery debris. The wind carried the scent of rot and rust, and the people who remained had long since shed civility like snakeskins.
They were beasts now, lean, feral, their eyes darting with hunger. The old words of care had been stripped from their tongues. Love, trust, kindness… they were as extinct as the trees.
Except for Sheyla.
She was ten, maybe. No one knew for sure their ages in these dark days. Her hair was tangled like copper wire, and her hands were calloused from scavenging through the carcasses of markets. She had learned to move silent, to see before she was seen, to grab and vanish.
When she found the half-dead pup beneath the collapsed stairwell, its ribs poking through mangy fur, her first thought wasn’t meat. She had wrapped it in her jacket and had shaken for hours.
The days that followed were a war between instinct and something older, something buried so deep in the bones of humanity it was almost forgotten. A faint evolutionary memory that had driven her ancestors to their brink. Love. She had shared scraps with the pup, even when it meant her own stomach clawed in protest. She hid it from the gangs, from the bone-hunters who’d kill it for food and skin it for clothes. At night, she pressed her ear to its chest to hear the drum of life still playing. The dog had taught her about humanity.
In time, the dog’s eyes grew brighter, its tail weakly thumping when it saw her. She named it Echo, because its bark was the first sound in months that wasn’t a scream.
People noticed. They stared at the strange girl and her animal as they grew in unison into adulthood. One man snarled, "You’re soft, child. That thing’ll get you killed."
But Sheyla didn’t answer.
She knew that in a world where humanity had eaten itself, the only rebellion left… was love.
Scribble Painting no5 by iServalan Exclusive to Tale Teller Club Records Scarf
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Scribble Painting no 1 by iServalan Exclusive to Tale Teller Club Records Scarf
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Scribble Painting no 2 by iServalan Exclusive to Tale Teller Club Records Scarf
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Scribble Painting no 3 by iServalan Exclusive to Tale Teller Club Records Scarf
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Copy of Scribble Painting no 4 by iServalan Exclusive to Tale Teller Club Records Scarf
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Scribble Painting no 6 by iServalan Exclusive to Tale Teller Club Records Scarf
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Scribble Painting no 7 by iServalan Exclusive to Tale Teller Club Records Scarf
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Sunflower Shining on a Sunny Day by Sarnia de la Mare Scarf
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Blue Jesus by Scribble Artist illustrator Sarnia de la Mare Scarf
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Purple Rain Scribble Painting by Sarnia Scarf
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An Afternoon in the Park, scribble painting by Sarnia Scarf
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After Titian’s by Sarnia, scribble painting mandala portrait Scarf
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