Louis

Posted Sunday, December 10, 2023

5mo

INFJ

Taurus

7

8

New story experiment

Let me tell you about my life before the bombs fell. My name is Gareth Hughes, and I was just a regular lad making my way in London. Born and raised in Camden Town, I worked odd jobs after leaving school construction, delivery driving, shop keeping. Got an apprenticeship as an electrician when I was 18 and figured I’d found my trade. I enjoyed tinkering with gadgets and radios in my spare time. Went drinking on weekends with my mates, followed Arsenal FC, tried chatting up birds that were out of my league. Just ordinary stuff, really. The summer of ’77 everything changed. Tensions between China and America kept escalating. There were protests and riots as people demanded the government get nuclear disarmament talks going again. Not that it mattered in the end. October 23, 2077 is a date forever etched in my memory. I was walking home from the pub when the air raid sirens began howling. I stared up in disbelief as Chinese missiles streaked overhead. Before I could even process what was happening, the entire world erupted in nuclear fire. The next weeks were...well, hell on earth doesn’t even begin to describe it. I took shelter underground with other survivors, choking on fallout and watching helplessly as millions died. When we finally emerged, London was utterly devastated. Those of us that lived were scarred by radiation, transformed into rotting, zombie like creatures called ghouls. So here I stand over two hundred years later, looking like a corpse but still trucking along. My skin is melted and peeling, barely stretchy over my bones. My teeth are yellowed and chipped. What’s left of my hair is stringy and colourless. My eyes sunk back into my sockets, pupils clouded white. But my mind’s still sharp as ever, and this radiation ravaged body doesn’t need sleep or food. I’m not as fast or strong as I used to be, but I can survive what humans can’t. So I wander the broken cities and countryside, just trying to get by and maybe do a bit of good with this bizarre second chance I’ve been given. It’s a cold, cruel world out there these days. But I hold onto hope that we ghouls and humans can build something better from the ashes, something that endures. We have to, otherwise it’s all been for nothing, all that loss and suffering. My old life is centuries gone, but the future is still worth fighting for. I left the ruins of London behind and headed northwest, making my way slowly through the remains of civilization. Each new city I passed was a graveyard Birmingham, Coventry, Manchester once mighty hubs reduced to crumbling buildings and rusting factories. Plants and wildlife retaking the concrete jungles. As I entered the region they used to call the Midlands, the landscape became a patchwork of urban decay and reclaimed farmland. But the scars of atomic fire lingered everywhere. Skeletons of homes blackened by firestorms. Crumbling chapels and schools. Highways clogged with the twisted metal tombs of a million vehicles and their long-dead passengers. Always that ominous background radiation humming. The creatures mutated by that radiation were another constant threat. I skirted a roving herd of shambling humanoids with glistening green skin and an extra arm protruding from their left flank. “Tritons” the survivors call them. Then there were the “Reavers”, once men driven mad by thirst for blood, now hairless quadrupeds with curved fangs jutting from distended jaws. Their snarls echoed through the empty streets. Ghouls have a kinship with these tragic mutants their minds warped, bodies reshaped unwillingly by forces beyond their control. But most will attack a ghoul on sight as well. The radiation poisons more than just the flesh. So I do what I must to survive, but take no joy in it. This world dealt them an unfair hand too. As I passed through yet another hollowed out town, movement caught my eye. Shimmering wings fluttering from a second story window. I froze, gripping my rifle tightly. A creature floated down and alighted atop a rusting lamppost a “Sprinter”. Their ancestors were once mere dragonflies, but the radiation enlarged them and gave bioluminescent wings. Some even developed cunning intelligence, making them potential predators or allies. This one watched me warily with bulbous multifaceted eyes, likely debating if I was friend or foe. I lowered my rifle slowly and did my best to convey through gesture that I meant no harm. After a moment, the Spriter’s wings shivered in an iridescent blur and it darted away into the overgrown park. An understanding had been reached. So I continue my solitary travels through this changed world, wary but fascinated by the mutations I encounter. The radiation unleashed forces we cannot fully comprehend. But perhaps we can still find ways to cooperate and move forward. That hope is what keeps me wandering.