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Based on the Cable TV series "Life After People", Dark Riddle scripts a poetic-styled chronology of the only two people left alive after the disappearance of every human alive. In turn, it follows an emotionally charged trek through a new generation of life on earth and the destiny of all humans and their creations. Dubbed "thee" creepiest romance story on the web, this chronicles love through interwoven poems and fragmented fables, revolving around the greatest fear of all…loss.

Revelation #1: (Achievement Unlocked – Echoes)
1 Day After People:
Downtown. Chicago, Illinois, The United States
Date: Unknown

"Hello?"

"Hello – is there anyone out there? …Anyone?"

Laughter followed that call, an aster and maddening laughter.

"Don’t wanna’ answer me, huh? Well, then yall can just piss off! All of you bleedin’ heart nobodies – just piss off!"

The sky: so very beautiful in this August month. The streets; still cramped with dozens of cars, many piled up with motors still revving. Some, still billowing dark plumes of smoke as they melted into metal cinders, mere wheeled headstones to people that no longer existed. Where did they all go? Where were their bodies? Where were we?

(A man walked passed his reflection and screamed. So there it was deemed, that no stick, stone, rattle or hum would ever come - What have we become? When we lost the power to feel, did monsters become real?)

The Cowboy had traveled far and wide. He didn’t know how far or where he traveled from, since his memories were as scattered and schizophrenic as the lonely landscape was. But he did know that he crossed into the city a day ago. He did not know his own name. He didn’t know his age, and he didn’t know why he was here. But he looked at his reflection from a shiny glass building. It was one of the tall and wondrous skyscrapers that lined the beauty of the wide lakefront. He wore a cowboy hat, a thin flannel shirt, dark blue jeans and a pair of rattlesnake leather boots. His face was dotted with the shade of a thin, incoming beard. Rugged-looking and well muscled; he dubbed himself by a generic name – Cowboy – until his memories would return, if ever.

By now, Cowboy was near the large and monumental Chicago Conservatory. The preened gardens around it swayed like lovely, welcoming hands. He moved closer, though tired, he was not very disheveled, for every mile or so, the giant parkway was lined with an assortment of fine water fountains. This place called Downtown Chicago; it was ominously gorgeous, yet the Cowboy rarely smiled. He peered through the thick glass of the conservatory, where he could see a fantastic menagerie of trees and other plants of exotic wonder. About to enter the already opened door of the place, he stopped dead in his tracks.

(A woman cold and alone, spoke, few words there were to evoke. Madness twisted her lines, the vines of the voice, gave her little choice. Through the land, all was hollow, yet still her voice was followed. Move as fast as you can, I thought I heard a man! But morality measured, reality treasured, for this voice was merely tethered to the loyal and the feathered.)

A faint voice was heard. Cowboy cocked his head curiously, was this the reverberating sound of his own voice haunting him? For over six hours earlier, echoes had fooled him; echoes of his own voice being driven back to him from distant miles away. Distorted and mired in wind, they fooled him during his lonely venture to the city, but this new voice appeared to be one of other origins.

"I- I heard you. You know I done heard you!" Yelled Cowboy.

He ran outside the conservatory towards a row of peach trees growing in the park’s trail ways. His heart pumped, excited now, he saw the thin silk blouse of a woman caught between the thin branches of a peach tree. Once again, the high-pitched voice spoke. This time the words were more audible and Cowboy could hear what they were saying.

(In another land, skipping through the sand, the virgin, young and tender, flipped the keys among our gender. Her hair short, her face pout, the likes of children’s court, lean or stout. Brazen and sassy, tart and classy, the one awaits her fate. For this reason, the man lives to meet the date, so very far from late.)

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