Just a short piece I’ve been working on. I’m hoping to get a little feedback on it as I believe it worth continuing on. Please let me know your impression.
The Nostros sat in evenly spaced rows, their brown, cooling suits blending easily into the sand. They sat upright, and stared with their empty eye sockets into the ball of fire on the horizon. An image of stationary perfection, as immobile as cemetery markers in the old tales, they showed no emotion, did not even hint at their purpose. These men were the first line of defense, and the last hope of a dying race.
Evan sat on the wall above the shadows of the Nostros. Waiting with the men for whatever might come. Everyone knew the stakes, and these would be heroes were all that stood in the way of the death that had just crested the horizon.
When God came back, it marked the beginning, not the end as had been foretold. Celebrations lasted for weeks, even months. The lifetimes spent fighting ended overnight. Justifications for hate fell flat in the face of a living creator. He came as the last of the broken lands merged with the great continent. The world, divided since the prehistoric age, collectively held its breath as the two became one again. Evans and his parents had witnessed the event live on the Virtua Monitor in the living room. The image felt close enough to touch as the last of the water ran away from the swelling land mass, and the salty air blew into in the small cottage.
He didn’t come all at once. The earth had shook for weeks prior to the event and still did on occasion. During the big quake, He’d come from the sea. It was almost the New Year and He came in a wall of water, blocking out the satellite feed to the Virtua monitors for a few breathless seconds. Intently watching, Evan had jumped back; scared he had uttered one of the words absolutely prohibited in his father’s house. But the Virtua never went out, and during those short tense moments if his mind had betrayed him, his father hadn’t noticed.
Though they knew the big quake was imminent, many also believed God was holding it back, giving the Nostros the chance to change things they had no part in but would have to pay for if they could not reverse the damage.
In the ever-growing desperation to survive, the Nostros had come together as one. They spanned the distance to each horizon. The beginning and ending invisible to the eye, and although none of them could see the start or finish of the line each knew where, and who it was.
Nutrition tubes weaved between them connected to a central line tap that would feed them at regularly intervals. They did not sleep, nor did they need to. They stared off into the distance seemingly at rest, but each was working efficiently and to their maximum potential. Each individual thought, carefully considered by the brothers was crafted, and honed to a knife-edge before being accepted or rejected. Their collective consciousness a by-product of genetic infusion, allowing them to tap the potential of each individual for the greater goals outlined in their memories of the beginning. Except for hair color and skin tone they all looked the same, the facial and bone structure genetically altered to provide the best-suited conglomeration for the activity of thought.
The Nostros empty sockets were nothing if not a badge of pride, it showed how far they had come, how far they had evolved. If asked, the enormous male consciousness would have said they’d chose this form regardless of whether or not it was God’s will.
Yet even after months of thought, the seas still boiled. Their beds, where exposed by the inrushing land, bubbled and stank of sulphur. And still the Nostros were undeterred, perhaps even blissfully ignorant of the chaos on the other side of the wall.
Evan’s mouth hung open, he’d come to see. The Virtua had gone out, in its absence, the city had become a bubbling cauldron of panic. He wanted to see. Must see. Then end was in sight.