Rain plopped down into the ground for the second time this week, making the uncut blades of grass stand up straight and collect beads of silvery water. Though it rained, the sun was still visible, as only half the sky was covered in cloud. The light from the citrus-orange part of sky made the raindrops twinkle and look like shards of falling diamonds. The large, ancient poplar tree wavered and danced in the light breeze, the swaying of top branches making a soothing, almost ocean-like sound. The hills dipped and were dramatic from all sides that they could be seen. From his place on the hill, he could see the bunches of red buds, willows, and oaks. It was a sight to behold.

It had been five months since IT happened. He didn’t like to address it as what it surely was; rather, he simply called it, IT. Every time he thought of that day, he would draw in a breath and shudder. He lost them both; his fiancé, and his unborn son. Now the city lie in ruin, and disease has spread with a speed so rapid that it strikes more fear into the heart of anyone left. However, he could see the bright side: the Earth was becoming clean again. Five months without large machines pumping toxins into the air, and the skies and earth looked much cleaner, much more beautiful.

But was it enough to make up for the fact that, if that if IT didn’t happen, he’d be holding a four month old son right now? Did it make up for the fact that he lost the love of his life and now had to deal with the rest of his life without anything he knew?

IT happened so quickly. One minute there were buildings and technology and science, and the next moment, it was all lost. Buildings crumbled. All power lines were gone. Electricity was gone. So many, so many died. He used to live in London, but now he lived in a deserted and empty land, barren of most humans. Every now and then, as he walked the streets, amongst the decaying bodies, he’d see another person. As he would walk, or as they would walk, their eyes would meet. He once saw a young child, no older than three, crying; “Mummy, mummy, mummy…” it yelled and screamed. Tears streamed down his face. But he didn’t do anything; what could he do? He most certainly couldn’t say that it’s okay, because it’s not. Everyone is dead. The world is dead. The human race is almost gone. It is most certainly not okay.

He is Alastair Trask. A twenty-five year old, who lost his fiancé and unborn son to the apocalypse. So often, it was shrugged off as nonexistent, that it would never happen. Oh, but it did. Natural disasters to the highest extent of the word swept across the globe. From his apartment in London, he knew that it started in the far East, China and Japan hit hard, and the places in ruin. It circled the globe from there. The East Coast of the US, where he was from and where his family lived, was devastated. California and Hawaii were swept from existence, literally. It was apparent that it was making a line from there; It spread to Canada and Mexico, and central US. So few were left alive that the Red Cross often couldn’t find a single soul. Millions, no, billions were left dead. Children were left as orphans. Fiancés were wiped from the plane of life.

Alastair had survived the collapsing of his apartment building. He held onto his very pregnant fiancé and dragged her from the rubbish that was left. He was wounded, but his precious Mia was wounded even worse. She could barely stay alive, but she did; for three days, Mia lived. Alastair couldn’t find water to clean her wounds, and he couldn’t find food to give her to get better. Ever so often, he’d see a helicopter, and he would cry out “Help, help! We need HELP!”, but alas, no one came to the rescue.

On the last day of her life, Mia went into labor. Right on time; three days from the last day of what he called “Normal Living”, James was due to come into this world. Mia died in labor; James was stillborn. By the time it happened, Alastair had already seen the devastation that it caused. Children had lain in the streets, face down and dead. People laid underneath and on top of destroyed buildings. Even the famous sights of London were gone; Big Ben was no longer, and the London Bridge had truly fallen down.

And Alastair had been numb to this. But when his Mia and James died, he realized how horrible this truly was. He realized that life would never revert back to what he had known. It was gone; everything he ever knew in life was dust in his fingers. He often thought about this since it happened, like now, as he watched the English country side get a light, beautiful rain. His brown eyes were glossed over as he recalled the day, for one of the hundredth of times.

His hair, a dingy brown shade, began to stick to his forehead as the rain slicked it down. Water, whether it was a tear or rain he did not know, rolled down his nose, which was slightly big for his face. He buried his face in his hands and spoke to himself, something he found himself doing often in the last few months: “Oh Mia…” he cooed, “you would’ve loved this sight.”

After he had lost Mia and his son, he got out of what used to be London. He walked for a day and a half or so, but he made his way to the countryside. The destruction was less obvious out here; rather, it looked like a horrendous storm had passed through, instead of the apocalypse. Eventually, he found himself a nice hillside, and set up a small, but livable, shack. At first, it was nothing more than a lean-to, but over the months, he “perfected” it, and made it into a tiny little hut. Currently, he worked on digging out of the hill, so that he could have room to lay down in it.

Even though his mind was strained with the thoughts of what he lost and what he had seen, Alastair was a survivor, and he made sure that he had the means to live. From university, as a horticulture major, he knew how to gather seeds from various plants and how to make them grow. And so he did; out side of his small shack, he managed to plant potatoes. Not far from where he had setup, he found a stream with small fish. He had been living on the fish until his potatoes were ready to eat.

Right now, though, he was no fishing and he was not digging at the hillside. He was watching the sun paint vivid orange on the sky, and the rain fall like diamonds. Despite what he saw, he believed in God. He grew up Christian, and he managed to carry his faith through the devastation that lay before him. Of course, now, he wasn’t fond of this God, but he believed in Him. Oh yes, he did.

She touched down one more time on the rubble of an abandoned building. It, like everything else, had crumbled. Easily. It made her smile how very easy it was to erase everything that had choked her and her sister out for so many years. Humans were gone, their machines were gone; everything about the whole damned race was--gone. A soft giggle escaped her lips, like bells jingling in a breeze. It had only been a few weeks since the Sweep had occurred, and already the air was crisper.

The old woman took a deep breath in, the air becoming her, rejuvenating her life force. She could feel herself glowing, becoming… beautiful. New, even. Her hair had long ago turned to that enduring gray with a wiry, brittle texture, and many a listless day had passed as she reminisced on when it was bright and brilliant. Skin had been the first to go; that which had in previous times been soft and smooth had deteriorated with the land into scars, stains, wrinkles.

She was connected to the land. Effel was something of a spirit. As the land flourished, before the snapshot of human activity on the Earth, she was beautiful. Her hair was a strange auburn that seemed to morph in the light of the sun, and then change with the time of day. Her skin was constantly a dark brown, the color of the rich soil, and her eyes were bright with the thrashing of blue waves.

However, with that being said, she was connected to the land. When the Earth flourished, Effel grew beautiful. The opposite affected her appearance as well, and in the recent years she had grown tired-looking. Old.

“You seem awfully happy,” a voice observed flatly.

Effel turned her head, her brittle skin and bones groaning slightly in protest. A woman had perched herself comfortably on a boulder, doubtlessly watching Effel rejoice and reminisce. Black, wild-looking hair that grew unbridled to her shoulders, listless brown eyes, and a slight, almost distortedly small figure, and pointed ears. The sprite grinned. “Of course I’m happy, Eleanor,” Effel said placidly. “Silly elf.” With effort, she crawled down from the rubble to hobble over to the woman. “You should be, too.”

Eleanor examined the old woman closely. “You’re not what you used to be, Effel.”

The old woman looked put-out. “It’s wonderful to see you, too, after what… thirty years?” she sniffed. Taking a deep breath, she could feel energy flowing into her, feel her skin pulling a little more taut over her cheekbones. “You know that I change with the Earth.” With a flip of her hair, she continued. “Soon I will return to my former glory.”

Eleanor shot her a strange look, and turned her attention awkwardly to the horizon. “How long will it take for everything to start again?”

A thought struck the elf violently. Did she really want for things to come back; the hustle and bustle, the fast lanes, the corruption? For so long she and the other creatures that lacked human blood hoped for a thing such as the Sweep to occur, but already she was beginning to realize how long ago it had been that they had been free to walk about. It had been… a long time.

Long ago, things had been calm. The tribe that she belongs to lived apart from humans in remote forests, unreachable for contact from that particular race. Lethargic days passed unnumbered, but peacefully. She remembered as a child, spending most of her time on the lakefront, wishing for something new and unfamiliar.

Effel coughed. “I don’t know,” she said curtly. “To hell with the humans for ruining my pretty face.” Her weathered features took the form of a scowl, regarding the elf with poisonous intent. “The Sweep is the best things that has happened to me in a long time. Do you want things to start, Eleanor?”

True, the mass-wipe of most (if not all) of the human race had its advantages, but the Sweep hadn’t stopped at humans. Eleanor stiffened, memories of her brother coming back, but she quickly suppressed them.

The younger woman hesitated. It was too quite without the people, desolate even. Lying, however, was out of the question. “Are there any people left?”

“I don’t know,” Effel replied sourly. A cruel smile alighted upon her face. “I’ve seen people, but most of them were dead, or bones.”

‘That hardly qualifies.’ Eleanor straightened. “I don’t want to stay in the rain, Effel. Do you want to come with me to find shelter? It‘s getting dark, as well.”

Effel eyed her with a mix between disdain and admiration, but offered a simple nod in reply.

(That was seriously so pointless of me. D:
I just couldn't get Effel the right way. I still don't like either of the characters. DDD:
I don't want to throw in their histories just yet; I hope this is okay.)