Whispers of a dead civilization breeze past; the reminiscent remains of what used to be a great city laid out before me like a pale labyrinth. Neglected buildings line the streets like forgotten sentinels and shadowed alleyways taunt those who pass to come closer into their cold embrace. The sun rests just behind a gray blanket of clouds, casting depressed light that falls over the disfigured roads as if highlighting the time-stricken paths. Once lurid paint is now muted upon the walls. Dry shades and earthly tones that would never earn a second glance. Billboards and shop signs that once boasted proud lights and intense colors are now rusted and forgotten. There is no one left to take care of the city so it fell into decay. Shattered glass litters the ground like drops of rain, reflecting the dark billows gathering in the distance that prove the oncoming storm.
My blue-stained gray eyes flicker towards the ominous clouds, heavy feet falling onto the pavement in a dogged rhythm. A shotgun extends my right arm, swaying with every step as a silent threat to anyone who dares to come near. Dirt and the faintest hint of dried blood stains an oversized pair of cargo pants, a striped sweater hanging loosely off of my scrawny shoulders. My boots crush the glass underneath but I never break stride, my eyes set forward determinedly and my mouth set in an unreadable line. My name is Samuel J. Pratt. It's not a name that is initially my own but I recognize it nonetheless for I had forgotten my own name a long time ago. I believe it a way to stay intact with my humanity. At least I can identify myself before blowing out the brains of any adversary.
The road sweeps to the right but I don't turn with it. I slip into an alleyway, reading the bricks like markers before stooping down and slipping my foot into a curved window at ground level. My body slides easily down into the crevice due to my scrawny physique and the gun follows shortly after. Flecks of red are spattered around the opening, stains I haven't had the time to clean. The small entryway is a strategy for eluding larger assailants; letting me easily slide into the room but forcing them to get onto their stomachs and paw at the air inside the room with there hands like cats before the boom of my shotgun would resound through the alleyway and the hands would go limp. I haven't had time to take care of the mess from my last interaction.
A flimsy board is set over the entrance, bathing the room in black and leaving me in the stifling dark. My scabbed fingers scrabble over the wall, searching for the crack on which I had set a box of matches only days earlier. My fingers strike the small cardboard square and I hastily pull out one of the small sticks, striking it against the bricks without hesitation. The room is illuminated as well as the girl standing only inches away from me. Her muted hazel eyes peer out from behind tresses of messy chestnut hair she has sloppily pulled back. Her nose is slightly upturned and spattered with dark freckles that extend over her shallow and dirty cheeks.
Her name is Riley O'Donovon, and we've been together ever since waking up in this stagnant world. She doesn't talk much, but neither do I. We're both survivors of something known as "The Blackout". An event in which the entire world fell asleep and only a few of us woke up. Almost every single day we have an encounter with those who survived, most of them driven mad by the years of solitude with a desire to murder anyone who comes near.
In Riley's hands she loosely grasps a double barrel shotgun similar to my own. Her left index finger is pressed up against her thin pale lips as a signal to be silent. I obey without question.
"They followed you." She starts quietly. "And they're waiting outside. We have to go." Her bare feet pad against the frigid concrete floor as she comes close and presses her lips against mine. It's only a moment before she pulls away, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth before she sweeps past me and out of the entrance I had just come through. I wait until the sound of a shotgun resounds through the alleyway before following.
We've done this before. The streets around our home are memorized to us so we use the labyrinthine structure to our advantage. I clamber out from the basement and dash away from where the shotgun boom originated, a smile teasing my lips when I hear three sets of footsteps following my own. It's almost completely dark outside now, but that doesn't affect me. The rain pours down around me in torrents but I don't acknowledge it; I just keep running. The sound of footsteps gets closer and I decide to make my first shot. Spinning around on my heel I pull the trigger, the momentum from the weapon nearly throwing me off balance. Blood decorates two of my three assailants as the pellets tear open the middle figure's cranium. I hear angry shouts before darting off again, only two following me now.
I've killed too many people to count. Riley's killed more. I suppose confidence has blinded me, and that's why it happens. A shadow crosses the path in front of me and out of instinct I pull the trigger. Ribbons of red cascade over the walls and my own, surprised face as the silhouette falls to the ground with a wet thump. I don't investigate the body, not yet. I sweep around to finish off my last two assailants, two shots ripping through the night air followed by their final, inhuman howls. A streak of lightning lights up the dark city and the aftermath of my destruction. That strike of lighting lights up Riley's stunned face, her sightless eyes staring up at me with a mixture of regret and shock.
My name is Samuel J. Pratt and six months ago I stuck the love of my life six feet under only to receive a bullet in the heart and join her two weeks later. With a hole in my chest and a shotgun still gripped tightly in my cold, dead fingers, my last breath was spent on a laugh at the irony of post-apocalyptic love.
My blue-stained gray eyes flicker towards the ominous clouds, heavy feet falling onto the pavement in a dogged rhythm. A shotgun extends my right arm, swaying with every step as a silent threat to anyone who dares to come near. Dirt and the faintest hint of dried blood stains an oversized pair of cargo pants, a striped sweater hanging loosely off of my scrawny shoulders. My boots crush the glass underneath but I never break stride, my eyes set forward determinedly and my mouth set in an unreadable line. My name is Samuel J. Pratt. It's not a name that is initially my own but I recognize it nonetheless for I had forgotten my own name a long time ago. I believe it a way to stay intact with my humanity. At least I can identify myself before blowing out the brains of any adversary.
The road sweeps to the right but I don't turn with it. I slip into an alleyway, reading the bricks like markers before stooping down and slipping my foot into a curved window at ground level. My body slides easily down into the crevice due to my scrawny physique and the gun follows shortly after. Flecks of red are spattered around the opening, stains I haven't had the time to clean. The small entryway is a strategy for eluding larger assailants; letting me easily slide into the room but forcing them to get onto their stomachs and paw at the air inside the room with there hands like cats before the boom of my shotgun would resound through the alleyway and the hands would go limp. I haven't had time to take care of the mess from my last interaction.
A flimsy board is set over the entrance, bathing the room in black and leaving me in the stifling dark. My scabbed fingers scrabble over the wall, searching for the crack on which I had set a box of matches only days earlier. My fingers strike the small cardboard square and I hastily pull out one of the small sticks, striking it against the bricks without hesitation. The room is illuminated as well as the girl standing only inches away from me. Her muted hazel eyes peer out from behind tresses of messy chestnut hair she has sloppily pulled back. Her nose is slightly upturned and spattered with dark freckles that extend over her shallow and dirty cheeks.
Her name is Riley O'Donovon, and we've been together ever since waking up in this stagnant world. She doesn't talk much, but neither do I. We're both survivors of something known as "The Blackout". An event in which the entire world fell asleep and only a few of us woke up. Almost every single day we have an encounter with those who survived, most of them driven mad by the years of solitude with a desire to murder anyone who comes near.
In Riley's hands she loosely grasps a double barrel shotgun similar to my own. Her left index finger is pressed up against her thin pale lips as a signal to be silent. I obey without question.
"They followed you." She starts quietly. "And they're waiting outside. We have to go." Her bare feet pad against the frigid concrete floor as she comes close and presses her lips against mine. It's only a moment before she pulls away, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth before she sweeps past me and out of the entrance I had just come through. I wait until the sound of a shotgun resounds through the alleyway before following.
We've done this before. The streets around our home are memorized to us so we use the labyrinthine structure to our advantage. I clamber out from the basement and dash away from where the shotgun boom originated, a smile teasing my lips when I hear three sets of footsteps following my own. It's almost completely dark outside now, but that doesn't affect me. The rain pours down around me in torrents but I don't acknowledge it; I just keep running. The sound of footsteps gets closer and I decide to make my first shot. Spinning around on my heel I pull the trigger, the momentum from the weapon nearly throwing me off balance. Blood decorates two of my three assailants as the pellets tear open the middle figure's cranium. I hear angry shouts before darting off again, only two following me now.
I've killed too many people to count. Riley's killed more. I suppose confidence has blinded me, and that's why it happens. A shadow crosses the path in front of me and out of instinct I pull the trigger. Ribbons of red cascade over the walls and my own, surprised face as the silhouette falls to the ground with a wet thump. I don't investigate the body, not yet. I sweep around to finish off my last two assailants, two shots ripping through the night air followed by their final, inhuman howls. A streak of lightning lights up the dark city and the aftermath of my destruction. That strike of lighting lights up Riley's stunned face, her sightless eyes staring up at me with a mixture of regret and shock.
My name is Samuel J. Pratt and six months ago I stuck the love of my life six feet under only to receive a bullet in the heart and join her two weeks later. With a hole in my chest and a shotgun still gripped tightly in my cold, dead fingers, my last breath was spent on a laugh at the irony of post-apocalyptic love.
AHHH!!! love it!
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