War (working title)

A group of teens struggle their way through a post-apocalyptic America

 

PROLOGUE

A town filled with Joe’s and Mary’s lies fearful beneath the open hand of Lilith, the first wife Adam according to the Hebrews. Their roofs are forever shaded and living rooms dark, but the children and the religious people have faith for the bit of sunlight they so desperately long for. They make stories of the hand and the glorious sun. The hand and the sun would have human forms with swords and guns and blood and breath. The sun would leave the hand scorched because of exposure and they wouldn’t have to fight for Lilith would always submit. But this wasn’t just simple childish stories. The townspeople raged like mad dogs for the slightest sliver of light. The jealousy spilled from the homeowners fingernails, the creases in their palms bled from the hard clutching of the sticks, the clenching of their fist. They began to rumble the ground with the stomping of their feet and create planets of sounds with the clapping of their hands; yelled out loud. They formed a perimeter around the cul-de-sac; all 1348 of them, squished together with no space to move or see, but this was the midst of a revolution. The senses were useless in times like these. The only thing going through their minds are actions. They clapped and stomped and yelled and their sounds cut the hand of Lilith like razors and showering the lot in the blood of a god. Never before has this generation seen the sun, so when the hand relinquished its hold on JoeMary they could not face the brilliant light of Sol, the daughter of Eve and Apollo, and the townspeople had their eyes gouged in punishment by Adam.

“Why do you do these things,” Adam cried out in a low and booming voice. His tears flooded the town of the blind men women and children to the point where they all sloshed around the streets lifelessly, hitting gates , doors, uprooting dull flowers they spent working on to grow so beautiful.

“We wish to protect you from the evil that is Sol.” Adams voice grew more sorrowful with every word uttered. “We have created you but yet you turn on us.”

Adam raised his colossal hands to his face and wept in them.

“I did my best for you.” Adam held his late wife in grief, but seeing his love bleed out her stale blood over the dead of JoeMary, his anguish turned to hatred.

“You are all fools. The sadness you have brought to me is unbearable and death cannot repent for it. What you have hurt me for, I will hurt you. Your obsession with this Sol deity will be your undoing. At the sight of your loves, your skin will boil and your hearts will dry. Your lungs will be clogged from the smoke of your burning flesh and brains rot black. This infinite cycle of sadness will not cease.”

Adam got on his knees and digged into his chest. He plucked the strings of his heart and held it into his hands, all the while still beating. He placed the pulsating heart in the center of the cul-de-sac and as it came in contact with the ground underneath the ocean of tears, the violent pulses created tremors that beat craters into the ground. The crater grew larger in diameter with each beat until it was big enough to swallow the shining liquid that the people saturated with their pruned and supple bodies. Huge bubbles surfaced at the top of the new lake from the hearts aorta sucking in liquid, filling its chambers with tears making it amphibian and vena cava expelling liquid out, making it warm again.

Adam turned to his dying wife and watched her lips quiver as she drew her last breath. It seemed to vacuum the surrounding air into her lungs. And the clouds seemed a little bit darker. The colors seemed a little bit duller. Everything in nature seemed to mourn the loss of Lilith, now a decaying mass of stone gold and diamonds.  Adam’s tears and body stopped shivering with the air as it began to harden. His body now grew grey and black, his face in such expressions of agony and aches. The flood seceded and the towns’ people’s brain got electric again, their eyes in awe of the tragedy they themselves have caused. They stood up in clenched teeth and fist cursing the sun as they were all incinerated in a flame so brilliant blue and yellow, the motionless statues of Adam and Lilith seemed to dance behind the flailing arms of the townsfolk.

 

 

 

Chapter 1

Some place in mid-west America, a town scarred by the bombs just like everywhere else in the world, lined in rows with clasped hands and bowed heads at the edges of the lake. The town of Jory was a small and modest one. They didn’t welcome outsiders and very much preferred to stay secluded from the rest of the country. They believed that the sins of their ancestors were in result of exploration and curiosity. Had they not been so nosy, their humble and small town would not be decorated in masses of rubble and broken houses, trees uprooted from the ground. (when you go to look at the oaks, you begin to noticed how deep rooted these trees were. It had to take the strength of a Titan to move them in the slightest bit.) Movement was rare in the town of Jory as everyone would usually stay in their radiation proof houses. The only time they would come out was to gather around the lake, moving lips and quivering knees. Everyone dressed in ceremonial radiation gear that wasn’t really needed for protection, but the people thought it was necessary to acknowledge the faults of their fore fathers. Most of the town was superstitious, most of the town meaning the adults, but the more recent generation didn’t take too kindly to tradition. The introduction of books into the town after so many years of isolation intrigues the children and stimulates them to deviate from the teachings of their parents.

The Great Tragedy, according to the adults, was due from wanting too much. The people rebelled against their Gods and were punished accordingly. Their thirst for knowledge led them to their downfall. The way the children of Jory has grown to accept the tale was a War between two unions and in an act of desperation, the leaders both commissioned a nuclear bomb be dropped on the enemies country. The magnitude of the bombs destroyed what was known as “modern civilization” and brought them to a time of the “Waiting Times”. This is appropriately labeled, as there have been rumors since the beginning of this era, of an underground Atomic bomb with its location unknown to anyone. The government has been excavating the Earth for decades but there have been no signs of such a weapon. The belief of it is beginning to subside as time goes on.

The children of the town often tell stories in their own version about what happened during The War. The teenagers would gather burnable wood and strike rocks together ‘till sparks burst and light the twigs and bleached planks of wood in a brilliant inferno. Sometimes they were lucky enough to pick up a “treated” piece that is soaked in chemicals from the acid rain which is highly toxic and since trees absorb the deadly liquid.

Entry to the forest is forbidden by town law. Houses that were on the edges of the forest were abandoned and this part of Jory has become shelter of the homeless, mutated, and of course the teenagers. At night, every night, the children who were over the age of 14 sneaked out of their reinforced houses, and put on their best clothes. The musicians brought their instruments for entertainment. The brave brought their house lamps. The rest of the bunch bought their thoughts of romance, rebellion, and escape. They fueled the night with burned cries and blazing angst; all was aware but it was distance that silenced them all. They were talking to themselves because who else would listen?

On this particular night, the Natties visited their part with their own instruments and entertainment. The kids couldn’t compete with the Natties when it came to keeping people moving. The Natties were a group of mostly blacks with dreads. They would always travel in packs, preaching of peace, their scruffy dreadlocks resembling a lion’s mane. If you looked hard enough, you could catch a glimpse of their animal counter-parts etched in the crevices of their wrinkled faces. The Natties brought their homemade guitars and Congo drums. The Natties were all but selfish, though. They invited the nervous teen musicians to join their vibration. The teens usually were too shy to agree and play, but tonight they took their offer and the Natties all laughed while playing; not missing a beat. The rest of the congregated freaks and outcast prepared the lights and laid out the drinks they scavenged from the neighboring town’s hotel. It seemed like these hotels had an infinite supply of drinks since the thieves would come with four or five bottles almost every night. It was always wine, which satisfied the softer tongues but the hard alcoholics often complained about it.

There was a small group of four 17 year olds who sat at the edge of the party boundaries kicking up dirt and smashing the ground with sharp sticks--dancing, they called it. They shake their heads vigorously, pretending to be Natties with long, disheveled dreads. Their resemblance to lions was their biggest appeal upon them. They admired their calm, peace-loving nature. The little group of teenagers inspired since prepubescent times, names themselves the “Nats”.

The self-titled leader, Nathan Williams, rallied up the other three for them to cease their primate actions.

“You all are f****n’ embarrassments!” Nathan said to the lot with a wild grin.

“You aren’t doing ‘nough, man,” a smaller boy, Levine Morris, shouted at him. “What do we come here for? We come ‘ere to get laid, man; get with the vibes.” A lanky girl with a flat chest and short brilliant red hair shrieked her witches laugh.

“Laid he says!” The girl reeled back in purest laughter, but belligerent all the same. “Y’hear that, Evans? I think Lev here is trying to stand you up!”

The boy receiving the message stood up from his spot, still carrying his sharpened stick. He digged around in his back pockets and took out his personalized lighter with a silver overlay and rough, crude carvings that read “Evan”. He lit the lighter and dragged his hand slowly over the infant flame. His eyes followed the movement of the swaying of the flame with his hand.

“You’re drunk, Age. All of you are.” The lighter hood closed with a quick and echoing clamp while the light that once illuminated his face disappeared instantly. Levine stumbled himself towards him, heaving himself over his shoulders.

“‘Ey man, Chris. Whassamattah? Have some ‘o this Ivy ‘ere, man. ‘Tis great, man. F****n’ brilliant.”

Chris shrugged him off of his shoulders aggressively; trying his hardest to “accidently” hit him in the nose. “Piss off, Lev. Not today.”

Nathan, now walking up to the couple brushed his greasy hair back with his hand about five or six times. His dandruff were visualized by the little light they were close enough to receive from the festivity going on just 40 yards away. They floated around his head like little flies attempting to eat the light that brushed the top of his hair.

“You’re still thinking about him, ‘ey?” Nathan said to Chris. There was no response. Levine looked at Nathan in an almost fearful way.   “Oi, I’m talking to yous!” Nathan planted his hand at the back of Chris’s head and squeezed his skull. Nathan’s big hands allowed him to grip his head like a basketball. Nathan height and intimidating features usually always got him out of all sorts of trouble. Nathan’s height was admired among men, women and children alike. His face was handsome, but it was an evil super villain kind of handsome. His eyebrows were usually furrowed and they spiked at the end. When he smiled, his lips would curl up slowly, devilishly bearing his almost perfect teeth.

Chris winced in pain and tried to swipe Nathan’s hand off, but his nails were already beginning to dig into his scalp. Adrea walked briskly to Nathan and pried his fingers from Chris’s head, slurring incomprehensible words in between each finger he released from his head.

“Git�"yoor�"hand--off his flickin’ head! You’re a bully, Nath. Leave poor Chris alone, he’s goin’ through some ‘ard times.” Adrea’s eyes were halfway closed and she began swaying off to her previous spot as if she had no balance. She stumbled a bit, trying to keep herself up, but her knees gave way and she collapsed where she stood, unconscious. Nathan watched her breathing body for a few seconds and disregarded her limp state.

  “I’m only messing about, mate,” Nathan said to Chris, now rubbing his head, searching for0 blood maybe. He kneeled down to meet Chris’ eyes and their faces were about a half inch away from each other. “Look man, I know he was a big part of your life. He was for all of us. But he’s gone now and he died a hero. Looking at that bloody lighter all the time, Chris, it makes us worried,” Nathan sighed. Chris looked towards the bonfire where the Natties stopped the music and began to pack up. The audience dispersed like vampires at the sight of the suns light peaking over a fuzzy horizon.

“You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine,” Nathan grabbed a chunk of Chris’ hair and raised his face up to him. He kissed his forehead and ruffled his hair. “Come on now, Lev. Help me with Age; we’ve got to get her home first before her parents find out she’s gone.”

      The stealth mission of escorting Adrea to her house soundlessly, and then trying not to stir their parents to an awakened state was a mission they’ve accomplished countless times for three years. The extra challenge of having deadweight with them was all the more exhilarating. Nathan carried Adrea piggy-back while the other two walked ahead to look out for any adults that they might recognize. Chris led the party slowly to the town gate, looking left, right, even up sometimes. But, his occasional gazes to the skies were in search of a stray fighter’s jet hoping that his late brother would land at the center of town with his usual cocky grin, mouthing to him ‘thought I was dead, huh?’ The image made Chris’ eyes glaze over and he was still imagining himself reuniting with his brother until he felt a pinch on his back. It was Levine, snapping his fingers quickly by Chris’ ears. His eyes were a little wide as usual, and about 10 feet behind him was Nathan carrying Andrea with a slightly annoyed look on his face.

“Hey, what are you doing? Quit trailing off,” Levine whispered loudly, pointing ahead where the gate was. “Alright, I don’t think any growns are around; let’s move fast. Nath, come on, coast is clear.”

      In the mornings, some of the adults left the town to pick up scraps and worn supplies from the forest. Deep in the heart of Jory Woods, there are wreckages of military aircrafts from the Tragedy. Metal scraps and furniture were theirs for the taking, and to the people it seemed like there was a magnetic force at the center of the trees, being emitted from the very bark, drawing the planes into them like a sea bleached and broken sirens bellowing silent songs that perhaps only the engines and inside mechanics of the aircrafts can understand. The townspeople used the scrap metal to expand on their homes and use the cockpit chairs for furniture and material from the leather. Some of the men who run the shops look specifically for planes still partially intact in hopes they could siphon stale gasoline to get some of the old machines running to help with the field work, but the gasoline barely has enough power to even get these contraptions started. So, with the group being slower than usual, there was a shared fear of the gate opening up to an adult about to scavenge the woods.

      When the gang finally arrived at the gate, Levine took a  ring of keys from his pocket and opened the rusted padlock to the gate and it cracked with a long resounding *creeeek*. Nathan and Adrea entered while Chris and Levine closed the gate behind them. Adrea was beginning to wake and being disoriented and not realizing where she was, she moaned in a rather loud voice, “When did we get here?” The boys silenced her in hushed voices.

“Shut up!”

“Oh,” said Adrea, now coming to terms with her surroundings. “Sorry! Nathan, put me down. I can walk.”

“Guys, we need to get home before the blacksmith wakes up,” Chris said.

“We don’t need to worry about the blacksmith. He’s on our side,” Nathan replied.

“No, he isn’t, you f*****g eejit. If he catches us he’s going to tell our parents. And they’ll skin our hides if they know what we’ve been doing every night.” Chris inhaled deeply. The stress of the possibility of being caught was one of Chris’ greatest fears. “Okay, let’s move.”

Nathan said nothing but looked at the back of Chris’ head wanting to hit him. He contained himself and followed the rest. Adrea hung on the Nathan’s sleeve, still dizzy.

“Hey, Nath, you don’t thin- oh, sorry,” Nathan gave her a look to make her remember the situation they were in. “You don’t think Chris has changed a bit? I mean, ever since his brother died, it’s been like he’s waiting for something to happen. Nathan, you see what I mean right?” Adrea looked up at him, waiting for a response or even conformation for her to know that he’s acknowledging her. Nathan’s eyes were still fixed on Chris.

“Why do you say such stupid things?” Nathan said to her forgetting to whisper.

 Chris and Levine who were in front of them, looked back at the two with annoyance. Adrea’s face starting glowing red and she walked a little behind him, holding on to his sleeve a little more loosely.

      When they finally arrived at Adrea’s house, the four creeped around the back where her room was conveniently located.

      “Alright Age, in you go,” Levine told her.  Adrea looked at Nathan who mouthed ‘What? Stop your fecking staring.’

      She turned away casually and slowly walked into the house. The boys heard her settle in her bed and they all went their separate ways without saying anything more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

please critique with brutal honesty.

Reviews

[Tigerbunny]

Hi! I think you have a great story it just needs to be reworked. You're "telling" and not "showing." I'll give you an example:

As early morning light began to filter down around them, some of the villagers stopped to pick up supplies. Worn scraps of metal, really, that had been torn loose from the wreckage of military planes as they struck deep in the heart of Jory Woods. Leftovers from the Tragedy but useful nonetheless.

Now go back and compare and see how I'm "showing" the reader and not "telling" the reader. I am taking your words and allowing the reader to use their imagination rather then tell them what I want them to see. Yes?

Think you have a very interesting story...you just need to show it. Not tell it. Good luck!

P.S. - I think you've got talent and could really benefit from some creative writing courses. You can tell you've got imagination and good stories to tell...you just need a few easy to learn skills to really bring it all out! :)