The setting in one of my personal stories starts on the war-torn land, earth. Egyptian people have turned against one another and are killing their friends. The land ran red with the blood of innocents that day, and mens souls turned black with corruption. The clash of spears and screams of men could be heard miles around. The stench of death and rotting flesh filled the air with its sickly sweet, cloying fumes. The earth wept that day, crying tears of blood, its wails voiced through the throats of dying men. Pain was felt by all, even those who hid from the suffering. The world remained forever changed from that day forth.
Later, my story moves to the highest regions of the sky. So high up, in fact, that the earth looked as though it was merely a speck in the midst of all existence. The stars gleamed with inner fire and the heavens shown with deep blue iridescence. The sheer size of the universe amazed me. All was calm, the cares of the world fell away. Smell, taste, and sound ceased to exist, and I felt weightless as though I was flying. But the earth still pulled. My core was inexorably bound to it. And this is where my story ends.
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