Post by Deleted on Feb 15, 2016 12:06:52 GMT -5
New York was a city of 8 million and a half, the heart of the world, a tightly packed hellhole of steel and glass. You could still see its skyscrapers, great black masses in the sky towering arrogantly over everything else, change the angle a slight and you maybe could spot Lady Liberty with her torch held to the sky in defiance like a great 'screw you' to the apocalypse. Now, if only Joseph could say the same things about the little people that dwelled under their shadows. Eight million. Hard to imagine what kind of hell that was.
"Go see New York. Checked" Joseph ticked another one of the boxes off of his clipboard, the one he'd been keeping for about half a year. It got boring, after a while: just wandering without any kind of aim. So half a year ago, halfway through a bottle of cheap wine, staring at a lovely sunset, he decided to make a bucket list of the things he wanted to see before his luck would finally run out. All the survivors he'd met had decided to head North, seek shelter where it's cold and wait for all this to simply blow over. It's been two years, all the boats were gone and Canada just seemed so far away. That was the excuse anyway; truth was he just couldn't really give a damn anymore.
The closer you got to the Big Apple the more you got to see of its rotten core, meaning the more walkers there were to welcome you. Joseph's sedan was parked on a little hill, somewhere south, overlooking the city, at his back was a small town, just far away enough so that none of its denizens could catch wind of him. Back leaned against a stolen car, stolen clipboard and pencil in hand, a stolen cigarette (the cheap kind) on his lips, a stolen bottle of sun-warmed Scotch waiting for him on the hood, drunk out of his mind, watching the sun pass by in the sky and the trees sway in the wind, with all the rotten corpses walking about and minding their own business.
Really, it was a wonderful world. Next on the bucket list: find more alcohol to maintain this strange outlook.
"Go see New York. Checked" Joseph ticked another one of the boxes off of his clipboard, the one he'd been keeping for about half a year. It got boring, after a while: just wandering without any kind of aim. So half a year ago, halfway through a bottle of cheap wine, staring at a lovely sunset, he decided to make a bucket list of the things he wanted to see before his luck would finally run out. All the survivors he'd met had decided to head North, seek shelter where it's cold and wait for all this to simply blow over. It's been two years, all the boats were gone and Canada just seemed so far away. That was the excuse anyway; truth was he just couldn't really give a damn anymore.
The closer you got to the Big Apple the more you got to see of its rotten core, meaning the more walkers there were to welcome you. Joseph's sedan was parked on a little hill, somewhere south, overlooking the city, at his back was a small town, just far away enough so that none of its denizens could catch wind of him. Back leaned against a stolen car, stolen clipboard and pencil in hand, a stolen cigarette (the cheap kind) on his lips, a stolen bottle of sun-warmed Scotch waiting for him on the hood, drunk out of his mind, watching the sun pass by in the sky and the trees sway in the wind, with all the rotten corpses walking about and minding their own business.
Really, it was a wonderful world. Next on the bucket list: find more alcohol to maintain this strange outlook.