Wonders of Post-Apocolyptia 2 - The Beginning and The End
Four days. Mark has been wandering blindly through the barren hell that was his home for four days now. At first
positivity was his main concern. He knew he'd go crazy if he became negative and depressed, but this soon evapourated as the entirety of his situation became apparent. He was cold and alone. He hasn't eaten or drank any fresh water for four days. The only consolation he can gather is from the hiking boots he found in what seemed to be a collapsed house. At about midday on the fourth day (Mark decided to make it a Tuesday), he gave up in his search for any sort of help or rescue. He sat down on a very rough limestone boulder, it probably came from a building of some sort, there were carvings on one face of the large rock. He absent mindedly traced the carvings with his fingers. He was desperate for some sort of idea of who he was or exactly where he is. He sat there for a good ten minutes until something clicked in his mind. These weren't random carvings on the rock. They were letters.
He jumped off the rock, immediately clearing and dirt or dust lodged in the ingraved letters. Mark started reading out
the letters as he revealed them. "L" he read, working furiously to find out what was on this stone. "E"..."I"..."N"..."S"..."T"..."E&qu ?ot;..."R"..."H.O and U". He sat there for a minute, willing some memory to come as it did before. Deciding that it would be better to get going, he pulled out a piece of paper and some charcoal from his bag and wrote down the letters. He put them back in and paused... "How did I know I had paper in there..." Mark almost physically kicked himself, He put the bag on the ground and emptied it out. He separated the things he'd picked up over the four days from the things he was too stupid to notice were there. "Right so... Paper, charcoal pencil... Sailing Swiss army knife?". He discarded everything else around him for the moment. He examined it all over, each individual tool and blade. He closely examined the nautical symbol on the side. "Sailing... boats..." Mark chuckled quietly to himself "Fancy that, I can sail". He placed the knife in the easiest to reach pocket on his jacket. He turned his attention back to his bag. He searched through each pocket of his bag. He almost gave up when he felt something in a small pocket inside his bag. He took out out a green, faded card. There was a barcode on the front, just visible, and some writing above it. Most of the writing was too faded to read, so Mark decided to try and complete the words using the charcoal.
Mark spent about half an hour doing and re-doing each letter, satisfied that he's gotten the letters correct. He wrote
everything out on the same piece of paper he used before. He sat down and read the paper, letting those words, words who's meaning everyone knows for as long as they live and take for granted.
"I have a full name... I even have a nickname... An address... My school..."
Mark stood up and threw everything into his bag and started walking. He didn't care which direction. He had no idea
where exactly he was, the address on his card held no meaning to him and it was getting dark. He was angry. He was angry at himself. The one, most useful piece of information about himself remaining in the entire country and it does nothing. He can't even remember his family. He walked for hours on end. His body ached, his feet were burning, but he didn't care. Eventually, he came across a mostly-standing old hotel. He kicked in the door and looked around. He was surprised at condition of the place, most things looked like they could be functional. He hopped over the small bit of rubble and searched the foyer. Most things ran off the mains, which meant it was of no use to him. He found a small minibar, which Mark gladly emptied the contents into his bag. He continued his search, confident he might find some more drink or food. Soon, he came across a small locked brown wooden box with a metal handle coming out the side. He picked up a small rock and soon began smashing at the lock. It broke with a satisfying clank and he lifted the lid. Inside was probably the most unexpected thing ever.
A gramophone.
He cranked the newfound music machine and let it play. The music sent Mark to a near euphoric state. He lay down infront of the gramophone and for the first time in as long as he can remember he slept. And slept well.
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The next morning, however, Mark woke up feeling awful. He dragged himself up and stumbled to the front door of the hotel. He collapsed to his knees and upchucked onto the front steps. He stayed there for about ten minutes before even looking up. As he did, he noticed a newsagents on a street corner. He slowly made his way over, careful to not upset his stomach once again. His feet felt like lead and nearly fell into the newsagents window. He propped himself against the shop with his paw and tried to read the front pages of the newspapers. A feeling of hatred and helplessness as each and every one of the papers had the same headline.
Nuclear weapons.
Mark collapsed again. He was bent double, heaving. His mind was buzzing. He found the strength to stand up and made his way back into the hotel. He sat down infront of the gramophone and restarted the music. He knew he was dying. He drank the most alcoholic thing in his bag and stood up. He slowly but surely made his way up the hotel to the top floor. He threw all the furniture into a pile and poured all the alcohol he had on it. Using his knife and a rock, he sparked a fire into life. Soon, the entire monument of wood was burning. He brought the gramophone up aswell, and since there was no ceiling, he could lie down and look at the sky. So he did. He lay down and waited. Night came, he became tired but was hesitant to sleep incase he would never wake up again. He engulfed himself in the music, listening to possibly the last song he would ever hear. A tear started to form in his eye. He would never know who he was. His eyelids became heavy. His hearing started to dull, as did his sight. Mark was certain this was it. He took out and held onto his card. This card was him. His eyelids shut and opened almost instantly. He was being blinded by a white light, and he was sure he was dead. He could still hear the music, which made him smile. He felt hands lifting him. "So this is what it's like to die..."
Soon, however, the light faded, breaking this illusion. The sound from the gramophone faded to the sound of voices. Mark opened his eyes. He was in the air, flying. He couldn't understand what was going on. He tried to focus on the voices, it seemed an eternity since he last heard another persons voice. He couldn't make out every word, but he knew the accents were foreign. Mark tried to form words with his mouth, but all that came out was a low gurgling. One of the shapes came over and jabbed something into his arm. The shape said something to him, something reassuring, but Mark was already unconscious before he could finish.