The war was supposed to end yesterday... Nothing seemed to change in the world, nor did it really matter... Resistance was futile and only strong managed to cope with the horrors of the night and the walking dead. The fires still burn as homemade explosives are used in self defence, and sometimes self-infliction. It is usually cold at night, but the fires attract them, making sleep almost impossible. I try to sleep during the day, but the threat will not sleep, nor do they need to. World governments crumble one by one with each passing day, and the world’s military power disappears in a blink of an eye. Life is scarce these days, but I live on to tell about my tales.
Today is another day, ‘another day...,’ I tell myself, another day of death, pain, and a countdown to the time I will finally be put to rest in my grave. I remind myself about the past, and what I used to have; a job, a house, wife, three kids, and even the odd vacation here and there. I had ‘the good life’ as one might refer to as, needless to say I was happy with what I had; I never did want it to change.
I was waiting for one of my company’s business partners; Joe, George, or whatever his name was. I was lounging on the reception area’s couch, reading the paper and helping myself to a cup of Americano, when I heard a few mutters across the room. It was the receptionist and the boss’s personal secretary; they were discussing something on the news it had seemed. I wondered what the fuss was about, and turned to the front page that I had skipped ahead of to read the daily sports article. On the front was a cartoon depicting the Roswell incident decades ago. The headline read, ‘What you don’t know,’ and it smaller subtitles, ‘-courtesy of the US Government.’ The article told about a leak in a confidential letter sent to the president. The letter had been traced back by unknown investigators to an unknown address in Nevada. Suspicions rose among those he first knew about this and went to decode the letter that was sent. The private investigators eventually came out to the public just yesterday to announce their collected findings of the private message. They were to hold a press conference later on the date of Tuesday, March 15th 2019 when their offices were raided by New York City police. The two investigators were taken into custody for questioning and were charged with treason against the US government. On the 2nd page were people’s opinions on the subject, and the results were of no surprise. Many people are now withdrawing support from the government in fear that they may turn ‘corrupt’; while others voiced that it was of no right for the investigators to ‘peek’ in on private matters of other people, including the subject of today. Most of the population however, were simply apathetic and went about their daily lives as usual on this apparent not-so-eventful Wednesday afternoon. “Creighton!” I heard my name as the main office doors swung open. It was George after all.
The sun rose between the once crowded streets of Broadway and Main, but not today, like most other days. These streets were never safe, and they certainly aren’t safe these days ether. I try to understand why no one goes out anymore; it isn’t all bad these days, you just have to be careful. The cafes in Soho never open, nor do the churches or the businesses of New York City. ‘Where did everyone go?’ I ask myself.
These days, things are different. I never carried a gun with me, nor did I ever own or want to fire one. I was never an irrational American civilian who acted upon gut rather than thought. I had found the small .357 sig cartridge which incidentally fit perfectly into the Glock 17 pistol that was found not a foot away. I had never fired a gun before, but my life had depended on a natural instinct.
“C’mon son, just pull it back,” I followed the instructions carefully; I had never felt such a rush before in my life. I pulled, closed my eyes, and released. A satisfying sound of a direct hit filled my mind. “Good hit!” the balloon was no longer filled with water, nor will it ever hold anything else, ever. It was my first day with any sort of a weapon, an old sling shot that was passed down for generations from my father, and his line. The rubber strips had been replaced over the years, but the integrity of the wood still held firm.
I searched through my closet for it, unable to remember where I had left it in my haste. The mess of clothes and supplies always seemed to work as a system of organization for me; probably why I was still alive...perhaps... I finally found the small shoe box that once held my first pair at size 2. I pried open the cover that was sealed tight with super glue as a sort of time capsule till when I was older. It was the first time I had looked through the objects of this treasure cache since twenty years ago. In the box were several pictures of me my parents had taken of me at the many ‘first times’ of my childhood. I scanned them quickly; ‘first day out of the womb, first day at kindergarten, first day at baseball practice...’ and then finally, I found the picture I was looking for.
Timothy Tang
17
Rockdige Secondery
Jan 13th 1992
[[ The Wishlist ]]
I could use a new set of headphones...
More guitars?
Maybe a grand piano...
and the will power to write my books
If only life was a fantasy story...
A weekend away with my extended family perhaps? (You know who you are) (^_^)
Fantasy of Darkness (A book project of mine)
Da creater
[[ Don't talk crap, it's ****ng rude ]]
The war was supposed to end yesterday... Nothing seemed to change in the world, nor did it really matter... Resistance was futile and only strong managed to cope with the horrors of the night and the walking dead. The fires still burn as homemade explosives are used in self defence, and sometimes self-infliction. It is usually cold at night, but the fires attract them, making sleep almost impossible. I try to sleep during the day, but the threat will not sleep, nor do they need to. World governments crumble one by one with each passing day, and the world’s military power disappears in a blink of an eye. Life is scarce these days, but I live on to tell about my tales.
Today is another day, ‘another day...,’ I tell myself, another day of death, pain, and a countdown to the time I will finally be put to rest in my grave. I remind myself about the past, and what I used to have; a job, a house, wife, three kids, and even the odd vacation here and there. I had ‘the good life’ as one might refer to as, needless to say I was happy with what I had; I never did want it to change.
I was waiting for one of my company’s business partners; Joe, George, or whatever his name was. I was lounging on the reception area’s couch, reading the paper and helping myself to a cup of Americano, when I heard a few mutters across the room. It was the receptionist and the boss’s personal secretary; they were discussing something on the news it had seemed. I wondered what the fuss was about, and turned to the front page that I had skipped ahead of to read the daily sports article. On the front was a cartoon depicting the Roswell incident decades ago. The headline read, ‘What you don’t know,’ and it smaller subtitles, ‘-courtesy of the US Government.’ The article told about a leak in a confidential letter sent to the president. The letter had been traced back by unknown investigators to an unknown address in Nevada. Suspicions rose among those he first knew about this and went to decode the letter that was sent. The private investigators eventually came out to the public just yesterday to announce their collected findings of the private message. They were to hold a press conference later on the date of Tuesday, March 15th 2019 when their offices were raided by New York City police. The two investigators were taken into custody for questioning and were charged with treason against the US government. On the 2nd page were people’s opinions on the subject, and the results were of no surprise. Many people are now withdrawing support from the government in fear that they may turn ‘corrupt’; while others voiced that it was of no right for the investigators to ‘peek’ in on private matters of other people, including the subject of today. Most of the population however, were simply apathetic and went about their daily lives as usual on this apparent not-so-eventful Wednesday afternoon. “Creighton!” I heard my name as the main office doors swung open. It was George after all.
The sun rose between the once crowded streets of Broadway and Main, but not today, like most other days. These streets were never safe, and they certainly aren’t safe these days ether. I try to understand why no one goes out anymore; it isn’t all bad these days, you just have to be careful. The cafes in Soho never open, nor do the churches or the businesses of New York City. ‘Where did everyone go?’ I ask myself.
These days, things are different. I never carried a gun with me, nor did I ever own or want to fire one. I was never an irrational American civilian who acted upon gut rather than thought. I had found the small .357 sig cartridge which incidentally fit perfectly into the Glock 17 pistol that was found not a foot away. I had never fired a gun before, but my life had depended on a natural instinct.
“C’mon son, just pull it back,” I followed the instructions carefully; I had never felt such a rush before in my life. I pulled, closed my eyes, and released. A satisfying sound of a direct hit filled my mind. “Good hit!” the balloon was no longer filled with water, nor will it ever hold anything else, ever. It was my first day with any sort of a weapon, an old sling shot that was passed down for generations from my father, and his line. The rubber strips had been replaced over the years, but the integrity of the wood still held firm.
I searched through my closet for it, unable to remember where I had left it in my haste. The mess of clothes and supplies always seemed to work as a system of organization for me; probably why I was still alive...perhaps... I finally found the small shoe box that once held my first pair at size 2. I pried open the cover that was sealed tight with super glue as a sort of time capsule till when I was older. It was the first time I had looked through the objects of this treasure cache since twenty years ago. In the box were several pictures of me my parents had taken of me at the many ‘first times’ of my childhood. I scanned them quickly; ‘first day out of the womb, first day at kindergarten, first day at baseball practice...’ and then finally, I found the picture I was looking for.