Famine Of The Spirit

Eliam and Elena sat among the ruins, their bodies bruised from fleeing yet another catastrophe, this time a storm that ripped through the remains of the city like it was pulling apart threads. Shattered glass and scorched earth surrounded them, and the air was filled with a bitter, suffocating smoke. Elena's breathing was shaky, and her hands clung to the edges of her torn jacket, knuckles white. She felt the urge rise in her—a desperate, almost instinctual reflex to pray.

She bowed her head, whispering words she'd learned as a child, words that had always comforted her. But now, they felt empty, as if they fell into a chasm too deep to echo back. Eliam noticed her lips moving and lowered his head to join her, hoping for a moment of peace, a whisper of reassurance in the silence.

But there was nothing. The feeling was cold, hollow, and unnervingly quiet. No familiar warmth washed over them; instead, a stifling silence settled around them. The weight of realization settled like a stone in Eliam's stomach.

"Elena," he whispered, his voice raw with fear. "Do you… do you feel anything?"

She looked at him, eyes widening as the emptiness gnawed at her heart. "No… Nothing. It's like… like no one's listening." The words hit them harder than the earthquake had, sending a shiver through both of them. It was as if every comfort, every hope they'd once known, had been stripped away, leaving them completely exposed.

Desperation flickered in Eliam's eyes. "Maybe we're just… not trying hard enough." He gripped her hand tightly, forcing their trembling voices louder as they tried again, but the hollowness only deepened. 

In that silent, empty space, reality began to close in. They had missed their chance; they were on the other side now, left behind in a world where faith had once been a bridge but was now nothing more than a memory, unreachable and distant.

Elena's hands dropped to her lap, her voice breaking. "So it's true… All the things they said… those warnings… and we didn't listen." 

Eliam swallowed, his heart heavy with regret. "We thought there'd be time." He whispered it as though saying it softly could make it less true, but he couldn't escape the weight of his own words.