The horror. The horror.

March 27, 2006 at 1:20 am (Uncategorized)

Day three. Earlier, I left the relative safety of the shelter to wander out into this new world of night. Out there, where oily black clouds block out the sun and the stench of ruin is thick, I wandered to the remains of The Lost Sole.  There are no remains. All is lost. Not a single wall stands. No bones poke from the rubble to indicate a form of humanity once existed there. The hellish pit that was Street Talk has been blasted to oblivion.

Still, in the smoldering landscape of the world that remains, wanderers pass through this unhappy valley like a legion of walking dead. They bear the dazed expressions of those who believe they are dreaming. There are jagged wounds and missing parts. There are hands that tremble with rage and hands that tremble with fear. There is shock and sadness. Mostly, there is a will to battle forth.

So, I've always wanted to write an apocalyptic tale. Scattered survivors shuffling through a damned world, without sunlight or hope. Frightening, dismal crap like that. The Stand, maybe. Or Escape from New York. But I'll refrain so we can get back to talking about animal sex, outhouse mishaps and stupid criminals.

 But first, a head count. So far today, a number of survivors have stumbled in to the shelter. Fred, Bobbie, AO, Mainetarr, Gil, K2, Flamette… There's enough food here to last us a few weeks and a good supply of booze. We're building up our cache of weapons too, because you just never know when the next scavenger will come by. You never know when vermin from the old world will come by.

We're keeping our eyes out for the rest of you. All are welcome here. My name is Pliskin. But you can call me Snake.