(This is the fragmented start of chapter one of what seems to be a post-apocalyptic novel. I don't know much about this project myself yet -- so far I haven't done any planning, and it's written in an inspired state of mind, without considering stuff like typos or other errors. I write this partly for fun, partly to train on my English skills. All sorts of errors may occur. I'll edit this as I move along, and appreciate any constructive insights from skilled readers.)
1
She had few belongings. A knife, some beef jerky, a box of matches – and a rucksack of sorts. She was a skinny teenager, strolling through the wasteland. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she stared at something in the distance. A city? Or merely a mirage? She didn’t know. Nor did she really care. Caring was an activity long abandoned.
She was practically naked – a piece of cloth adorned her waist, hiding her pelvic region. A knitted bra hid her perky nipples. Her chest was flat, her body unable to store fat for prolonged periods of time. She hadn’t menstruated for months. In the last town she visited, she hadn’t found any food, save the charcoal-like remains of ... humans? Or something like humans, anyway ... They were practically unrecognizable as primates – their bodies turned to cinders, their spirits flowing on a gust of wind, whirling skywards, propelled towards some cloudy substance in the sky, some dark, misty substance spewing acidic rain in the nighttime. She’d tried eating pieces of them, scraping off some ashes, ingesting it with a mixture of toothpaste and stale Guinness she’d taken from an underground shelter. But to no avail.
The sun was burning behind the dark cloud cover, not just bright orange, but radiating in several unseen parts of the electromagnetic spectrum. She sighed and murmured silently, cursing herself for venturing this far into the desert, cursing herself for not having taken the other direction, towards the coastal settlements, where there might have been something ... perhaps ... people ... still alive. Amidst skyscrapers of molten metal, she might just have managed to scavenge something edible, some charred remains of creatures other than humans.
She could see the city clearly now. It wasn’t a mirage after all.
*
Wesley
Criegen clutched his plasma pistol. A wry smile on his lips, he adjusted his
ammo belt, simultaneously re-charging the gun by lowering it into the force
field generated by the belt. His pock-marked face was scarred and sweaty, burnt
by countless hours in the ruthless sun. He had a roguish charm to him, a
certain eastern flair of sorts – perhaps some oriental alleles lingered in his
gene-pool, accounting for his narrow eyes and dark, smooth hair – not to
mention the yellowish hue of his skin, a trait he’d always hated. To be honest,
he didn’t find himself physically attractive at all, even though the girls
seemed to be drawn towards him like rabid dogs around rotting human remains.
He looked
up at the sky, pointing the gun at a vulture circling high above. He pulled the
trigger – and watched the bird swirl towards the ground, first in a seemingly
aimless descent, then spiralling violently, yet somehow controlled, down, down,
down in a Fibonacci-like fashion – then finally hitting the greyish sand dune
with a barely audible THUD. Walking towards it, he looked around, careful to
avoid potential onlookers. Paranoia being his signature trait, he took great
care in staying hidden, fearful of strangers, never letting go of his trusted
gun, his only friend left in this world.
He fetched
the vulture, slaying it and putting the feathery hide in his backpack, keeping
it for curing later on. Flies were already busily swarming around the reddish
bird, their buzzing driving Wes insane, causing him to wave and curse as he
walked back to his shelter, holding the vulture by its neck, so juicy, so full
of slippery muscles and sinew, so ripe and ready to be eaten. He looked at it
as he walked, uncharacteristically unaware of any danger that might be lurking
somewhere not too far away.
Arriving at
his shelter, he cooked the bird over the stove, eating it as the sun went down,
the night creeping ever nearer, encircling him like some ominous curse from a
long-forgotten era. He said a prayer to his gods, careful to thank them
properly for this exquisite meal. It’d been days since his stomach was this
full, and he feared many days could pass before a creature of such proportions
once more would cross his path. Silently he went to sleep, still unaware of
potential dangers, his senses blurred and sedated by the meat he’d consumed.
Soon he was snoring, his brain prematurely entering a dream-like state where
shadowy images were projected onto the movie screen of his half-conscious mind,
his eyes moving rapidly under their lids, his neurons and synapses conjuring up
lush sceneries from his childhood in the Southern Realms, before the Strange
Ones arrived and the Great Drought occurred. Not the arid desert he knew these
days, but green, rolling hills, vast forests and streams where trout and salmon
would come to lay their eggs, spawning new generations, spurring the wheel of
existence to continue its merry-go-round for yet another year. Not the barren,
hellish wasteland he found himself in whenever his eyes were open, but a world
of lavish pastures and flowery fields of joy, where dandelions stood, bowing
their heads in the gentle breeze, innumerable like the stars in a night sky not
polluted by light, nor by soot or toxic chemicals. This world of his dreams was
one in which nuclear waste didn’t rain from the sky, one in which flocks of
animals could still be found roaming the African savannah in considerable
numbers, frolicking and mucking about.
*
Chewing on
some beef jerky, the girl wandered aimlessly amidst the towering skyscrapers. A
desolate cityscape surrounded her – concrete- and steel structures of immense
proportions, abandoned streets and sidewalks, dry fountains and crumbling
buildings, smashed window panes lying everywhere. A chalk-like substance lay on
the ground in many places; in other areas she found ashes and soot. The
darkness was profound, almost palpable. She could feel it creeping into her
soul, taking hold there, latching onto some atavistic memories from days of
yore. Human skeletons lay on top of each other, as if caressing. She found a
playground full of tiny skeletons, their eye sockets gazing emptily at the
darkening sky. Looking at them, she started crying, unable to compose herself.
She sulked uncontrollably, aghast at the horror of it all.
She found a
shelter of sorts – a warehouse stacked with empty cardboard boxes, many of
which were huge. All of them were moldy and full of fungi, but she was easy to
please these days. She crept into a box, it was cramped but cozy, and she soon
got used to the smell. She’d found a wax candle and a pillow, but she missed a
blanket. And something to eat – her stomach was making strange noises. She
masturbated as she lay there, careful not to make a sound, even though she
didn’t quite know why. After all, who
could possibly hear her? Silently she came, her vaginal muscles cramping up.
The next
day she was cold. She felt sick, and her hunger had waned, almost disappeared.
She knew it was a bad sign – it meant she’d moved beyond hunger, into the
nothingness. Scrambling to her feet, she started searching the warehouse,
looking for something edible. The chances were slim, she knew that, but she had
to hold on to the hope, she just couldn’t give up now, she’d gotten too far.
Sneezing and coughing, she rummaged through the scattered boxes and shelves of
several rooms. She left no stone unturned as she went through all the nooks and
crannies. Conveyor belts, pulleys, levers and various industrial machinery
stood in the midst of a large hall, laden with cobweb, dead cockroaches everywhere,
mutated spiders hunting flies. She ate several of the spiders, some of the
flies.
Then she found a dead bat.
It didn’t seem too rotten. The smell wasn’t too
bad.
Looking at it, she pondered how she should
consume it. Raw? No, she knew she had to cook it. Somehow she had to warm it.
Then she remembered her matches. She took some boxes apart, disassembling them
into large flakes of cardboard, laying them on the floor, piling them on top of
each other. She lit the pile on fire before piercing the bat with the blade of
her knife, holding it over the flames, scorching it. Soon it was turned into a
black crisp. She ate it, working hard not to throw up. Warm blood seeped from
the tiny carcass as her teeth penetrated the darkened, wrinkly skin. The horrid
smell made her cringe.
*
Her palms
sweating, Maisy worked up the courage to enter the sewage pipe. Lips trembling
with fear, her heart pounding uncontrollably in her chest as she descended down
the ladder, one step at a time. Tortured screams could be heard from the world
below, growing closer with each footstep. She’d found the entrance to the pipe
by sheer coincidence, rummaging through the garbage littering the streets. Long
ago she’d heard rumors of the world below, a mythical realm where bad souls
went to be tortured for eternity. She hadn’t thought about it much, hadn’t
given it any proper consideration, but now it didn’t seem quite so far-fetched
as it once had. Her priest had told her about this place, the antithesis to a
realm known as Heaven, where good souls went to have sex with each other for
all eternity.
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