Random Impulse

This is a prologue to the collection of letters that I have been writing for the past couple of weeks. After posting one last week, I felt that there needed to be some sort of disclaimer so that my audience would not be too confused. Basically, these letter were written by someone who has been captured by the government and held in a human population control center. These letters are found sometime after these incidents in the distant future. I haven't yet decided on whether or not the government has lost complete control--my plot is loosely bound and developing as I go. This is when some person comes across these letters. I write this in class as the exercise of a scene without a particular character. Enjoy--

The treeless forest. Burning, that's what it looks like when the trees lie around in black powdery fragments. Once earth has been burned, it becomes barren. The scene is nnestled in a detached alcove, one that only a very adventurous traveler could happen upon. In the ground are metal doors, built adjacent to Hell. rusty hinges suggest that they wouldn't even open anymore, not matter how hard they were pulled. No matter what type of strength was exerted, no matter how they were prodded or convinced. Still, they want to open their mouths and tell a story, but the crust of dirt and the threat of exposure silences them. A green tin canister is half buried in the earth--evidence. It's lock has been melted off; the contents vomited on the . ground.  Crumbling parchment, words written in red ink. Blood? It's screaming. Screaming...