It was first a threat

It was first a threat. A threat to the old world and its old people, a pillar of their technology in the desert of the present where we have no use for things like automobiles.

It was a pillar of our hatred. A hatred for the old ways. Because they came in their cars into our deserts and tried to reclaim what was once theirs. But we are no longer with them, and they should've known when the world had first ended.

They say their mines of black gold had run dry, and they knew we had what they lacked. So they came driving in, one by one, and were caught in our sand traps.

Now all that remains is the pillar, the remnants of what they left behind. Remnants till the end of time.

But now it is known as a marker in our great deserts. Pilgrims come and see these ancient vehicles stacked atop one another, a mesa made by man, though to call it a mesa is sacrilegious at best. They look upon it and know: 10 more leagues to Desert Town, the place that survived the End.

Pay witness to our testament. The old world is dead. What you see before you is our hatred, stacked. May it linger and rust while we thrive instead.

Indeed, they come to us in Desert Town and see the marker, unaware it was first a threat.