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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Through out this book you will follow several occupants of a post apocalyptic world through theirI feel daily routines and discover the tragedies that have befallen the entire world

Submitted: May 04, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 04, 2013



Chapter 1: The Traveler

I feel that soon we'll come to realize what, individually, we have all been doing wrong. In my case i feel as if I'm more a

spectator then an actual participant of life. I just sit in an isolated isle of the world looking down on its everyday happenings

while i observe the decay of humanity stripped down to its most primitive form.

I hold my breath......slowly count to ten, and open my eyes. I strain my body for movement while i ask myself in the midst

of ignorant bliss, what's really going on? With a violent gasp I re-emerge form the glittering depths of distraction back into the

ever dulling world. Colors streak by, blurred, running together. The blues of day run to red and the reds fade to black.

As I coast by in the same tedious manor I scan the dirt and ash that coats the ground. Even in my car the filth  often holds me

gasping...... heaving. The thick, ever lingering clouds close around my quivering body like choking hands and strain ever last

trace of salvageable air out of my body.


This world we live in has become infested with the idea of hope; it's filled with parasites, leaches feeding off the side of

society. Hope has just become a synonym for nothing. It's what people say they turn to when they have nothing left in the

world but either don't, can't, or won't admit it to themselves. Those of us who have just let the idea settle in have become

much better off. We have let the shadow rise above us and we live beneath it.


As I close in on my initial destination I ease onto my brakes, shift into park and just before getting out I sit for a second

and gaze out at the horizon. Things lay in ruins surrounded by blistering heat and blanketed in always lingering filth. When I

finally get out i drag myself with a subtle limping gate to the entrance of my motel room. I'm staying in a place called "The

Humble Abode". It's one of the few places worth staying along the huge expanses of road that web the planet. I went inside

and slid down to the floor and sat with my back propped up against the wall. I do this because most of the furnishings have

either been stolen or destroyed and I don't like not knowing the atrocities that have happened on the bed.


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