We've read stories about the old days, the glory of human creation, cars and medicine and buildings beyond our wildest imagination. The only thing left now are ruins and bridges. Bridges into nothing. In the mornings we crawl through the ruins, hiding from the sun. Too often it burned our skin, many of us now wear their skin raw and red.

I climb up one of the old bridges, once the clouds cover the sun, making it hide and for a moment, time seems to slow down. I pick up a red boot I see on the floor, it looks like fire to my eyes. With nothing but pure joy I put it on my foot and proudly wear the red boot, my other foot naked and bruised. An ancient yellow raincoat covering my blistered skin. There's not a single hair on top of my head, so I pull the hood of my jacket up to cover the raw skin and quickly disappear into the shadows, as the clouds move on. After some time passes I hear the familiar scream from my mother, calling me home, her voice sharp and high, a stark contrast to the almost quiet world around us. On my way back home all I hear are my steps in the dry, brown grass. Younglings like me are not supposed to scavenge, but if we find treasures while roaming the ruins we're allowed to keep them. That's what our leader Mrax decided. They became our leader because they were the biggest, strongest and loudest human. They taught us that we can call ourselves humans, we may look different than the old folks and not live like they did, but we are of their kind, their race, their blood. I crawl under a bridge where our nests have been made and sneak close to my mother. My mother is sitting near Mrax, she glances towards my red boot and grabs it roughly, pulling me an inch through the dirt. I yelp and let out a frightened tone, but she huffs and drops my foot, seemingly deciding the boot is not that interesting. My mother is a close friend to Mrax and often get's granted little gifts. My mother hands me red berries and an old, weathered book. I accept both graciously and bow my head low, almost smelling and tasting the sand under her feet, but my senses are dull, dulled by the many scars I carry. I crawl into my mothers nest and eat the berries, a strong acidic, almost painful flavor bursts in my mouth as the berries get crushed by my yellow teeth. I make a quiet chuffing sound and shake my head, but quiet down as my mother glares. In our society, we obey our matriarchs, men are only for gathering berries, women raise and lead the families.

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But from the books of the old days I learned the old tales of patriarchy, of men leading and men  in power. Of everything it brought to the world, the rise of the elite, which were people that had more than others for some reason. Of electricity which was some magic power, which spread light and warmth and united the people but at the same time it destroyed them. And the downfall of the old time. When men got too hungry for power and success, without a care about their world. I've read about green trees and blue lakes, but never got to see them with my own eyes. In my longing for the trees and the blue water I open the book my mother gave me. It's an old picture book, it shows pictures and paintings of grand lakes with white, even islands floating in the water. With wondrous eyes I gaze at the page and touch it with my finger. But my dry skin bristles upon touching the foreign material and a droplet of blood smears across the painting. I pull my hand back and look at it, red flows down my finger and I screach, my mother's head turns and she approaches. She grabs my hand harshly and sticks my finger into the dirt after staring at it for a moment. She does this to shut the wound, the dirt cools it and I lean against her, finding warmth and comfort. 

The next time I open my eyes it's dark, this is the time when the grown ones go out to run, sometimes they come back with humans we haven't seen before. Humans with wet skin, green skin. They are strong, but we have more humans. If the grown ones bring them, we know we have food for many days. I stalk out of my nest, making sure not to wake any other younglings. Far away, across the black water under the bridge, I can see lights I've never seen before. They reflect in my eyes and I gasp involuntarily. Those are old time lights.