Into the badlands the wind sweeps dust and ash from the ruin of scorched towers. A single tree stands upright in the perplexing maze of life before. Nothing else had been spared the touch of the red flower or the embers that followed. Life was singed off the ecosystem except the lone child sprouting branches. Sap dripped from its eyes as it watched civilization fall to itself. It endured the years, the floods, the burnings and the collapse. Its roots run shallow but far stretching to far off places looking for water. Reaching a small coper pipe, it found its crutch to rest on. The tidal waves swept the vegetation away in a swirl on death. What was left was burned by the ashes the fell from the heavens. The tree stood strong. The copper pipe holding it in place bent and out from it flew water. The tree had a living source. The bark on its mast grows dark and the rigs grow larger every day. Only this speck had watched the world yearn burn and turn upside down. Not by strength did it survive not by smarts but by luck. But where will lady luck be when the ground shears in to the abyss kicking away the crutch and leaving the tree to fall. Who will be there to watch the last hope’s clock stops.