RaGe by Cristian Florentino
It is the year 2077, a dim dark circular object was found in the sky approaching the earth. NASA had cautioned the people close by to empty the zone before it hits. Nobody knew where the meteor came from as NASA had researched the universe previously before the dark object was seen. It has been inferred that this dull, dark opening was in fact a meteor bound to hit the earth. The meteor shuts in, and as it closes in the people watch as their home is consumed into dust and the ground kindles before them, it had looked like a fountain of lava emitted before them. The people had anticipated the landing of the meteor would be harsh, however, the meteor was flying at a gradual speed, going across the sky like butter, it had everybody confused. As the meteor landed, the individuals saw an opening to it. Interested in what the thing was, people looked more closely. As the meteor hit the ground people finally noticed a leg leave the opening. A shadowy figure leaves the opening, thinking about what had simply happened to him. Even he is befuddled on where he is. “Who . . . are you?” a person from the crowd states nervously. The crowd backs away further as they have no idea what this entity might be, nor what it intends to do to them. “It’s alright, I don’t mean any harm!” the figure says. He mumbles under his breath, asking himself questions on how he may have ended up on Earth. Skeptical about the people around him, he turns around and flies away nowhere to be seen. He arrives in a place struck with poverty. It reeks of trash, the smell like decaying carcasses abandoned in the sun. He is encircled by walls, the alleyway transmitting a dreadful aura that hits him with dread. He has no clue about where he has arrived, until the light hits him from the end of the alleyway. He strolls towards the light, his hand covering his face as the sunbeams burn into his eye. He leaves to see a shocking sight, buildings burning, garbage all over the place, and the sickening sight of a group of men beating somebody to a bloody pulp. He has never 85
