A cold, sparsely populated plains. There is nothing there, no restaurants, no clubs, no stores, and not even trains or buses pass by. The winters are freezing, the summers are cold and ripe with storms and tornados.
It's a lonely wasteland. Somewhere far away there is a sea; as vast as it's lonely. The polluted sea freezes in winter and throws ashore all kinda trash in summer. Its roaring waves echo through nearby pine forests and trenches, but only seagulls answer these roars.
Then, also somewhere far, there are mountains. In mountains, there is life. There are boars, deer, and even foxes and wolves. They are wise, so they run away from humans.
Old defensive structures are sprinkled among the peaks and hills. They are hangouts for whatever people are remaining, mostly hobos, children, and druggie teens. At night, one can hear the endless dog barking, and occasional gunshots, as military shooting ranges and outposts are sprinkled in such remote and difficult terrain.
People hate each other. The future is dark, and a neighbor mistrust a neighbor. There is a suffocating air of corruption and envy, and ceaseless violence. One can get attacked for smiling for seemingly no reason. No one leaves without a knife hidden in a pocket, and illegal arms trade, as well as private 'protection' companies, are flourishing.
And all this coldness, and loneliness, reflects my soul.