Jessie 2

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
much the same as the last

Submitted: June 01, 2015

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Submitted: June 01, 2015

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Jessie: extract 2:

Jessie slammed the door behind him and threw himself against it. His jaw was blabbering up and down incoherently, his heart beating out of his chest while he tried desperately to suck some air into his lungs; scrawny sweat soaked brown hair plastered to his forehead. His knees were buckling underneath him, and his legs had no coordination, like trying to gain footing on a slippery kitchen floor marred with blood. It fell deadly silent. In this brief moment of clarity Jessie had the presence of mind to look around, realise he was in a tool shed and threw all of his weight into moving a tool shelf in front of the door.


 

The panic induced haze was lifting from his eyes when he realised he had mistook his surroundings. He had not realised that the old farm house was luminous with artificial light that was running on a generator situated in the corner of the room. As Jessie pondered over this conundrum his heart only sank further and further. There was a time, just after he had had the land ripped out from underneath his cold bare feet that the signs of intelligent, coherent life was a blessing: it meant that a companion was close at hand. This was not the case anymore. Shortly after the purge the power went out, survivors fell out of contact with each other and became separated. Pumping stations ceased to pump, and water became gold dust. It became impossible to harvest fields, food too was scarce and far between. But worse still, without power, there was no light and the moment man lost light, man lost the night. It didn't take long. Man grew a fourth enemy. The first was them: 'The screaming scarlet' (Jessie had dubbed them), the darkness, long grass, and men. Man's newest enemy was his own brother; and he no longer owned the world, no more than rats own the sewer.


 

'Ha, Power tools!' thought Jessie in vain 'give me an automatic rifle!' Jessie could almost hear the universe replying mockingly: 'no, your species is screwed Jessie'. He thought fleetingly of the tight gun laws in place in the old world that he had been so adamant would keep him safe and thought of how they now look a lot like the inside of a long dark barroll of a loaded gun.


 

Jessie put his eye to the crack in the door to the next room and saw a large, empty, well kept living room. He cautiously set foot inside the stuffy large room and was all of a sudden struck with the disarming feeling of home. If the windows were boarded up, it would would have been like looking through a tunnel to the past, where dinner was ready at 6 o'clock, just in time for 'The simpsons' and people would discuss their future as if they had one. He studied his surroundings. Scattered everywhere in the room were hundreds of family pictures, some framed, some lay on the side, stuck to walls, all incredibly well kept. He stared long and hard at one. A man: mid 40's, broad, smiling, bald; a woman: perhaps 10 years his junior, pretty, petite, slim and blonde. And in the middle of them was a small child, no older than 4. The child had eyes that would have soothed the heart of hades: so fragile and precious. It was because of the child that Jessie decided that this whole family was dead. 'The child would have been their weakness, their undoing, thats the way of it now' thought Jessie. Anything with the slightest morsal of weakness, the slightest chink in its defense is met with its timely death. God loves to punish children for the mistakes of the father. 


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