The Scarecrow (unfinished)

The opening to a potential novella I'm working on. Set in a post-apocalypic New York city, 'The Scarecrow' is the fable of one man's journey for answers about the world pre-apocalypse.

He walked with purpose across the barren wasteland that had once been New York City. The pathetic remains of what had long ago been mighty skyscrapers loomed above him with sinister conviction, unwilling to fall, yet battling to stand. He had adopted the persona of unlikely hero with withered hands and sunken cheeks, his entire being a pitiful depiction of the true extent of apocalyptic power. He had been born with the radiation sickness and had lived with it for his entire 20 years on what was no longer even planet earth, now simply a sorry landscape filled with disease, death and desperation. His genetic mutation had been caused by the sickness and it had enveloped him at conception, his mother almost signing his death warrant with the disease being fed to him through her damaged placenta. When he was born he too was damaged, a pitiful mutant creature brought into a world with little hope of survival. However, he defied all odds and lived, maturing into someone somewhat weak at first glance, but really a strong man upon further inspection. He walked hunched but his head was always held high. They called him The Scarecrow.

There were little from the world before left in the post-apocalyptic world. It had been 30 years since the nuclear explosion and all whom possessed any shred of dignity had long since died out. The new world possessed no law, and anarchy reeked from every corner of the broken globe. The new world was filled with dystopia, and it was all The Scarecrow knew. The small number of those living were entirely amoral, and lacked the humanity necessary to associate in amicable circumstance with those around them. There was murder. There was cannibalism. There was little other option. The Scarecrow seemed to be the only creature in existence with the drive to survive, but with his humanity still intact. He blamed this on his mother’s influence, she having been from the Old World. He was hungry. Painfully hungry. But he would never eat one of his own.

He heaved his brittle bones for miles across the derelict landscape, passing others on his journey down the broken road. Some eyed him hungrily but none succumbed, for he was ill with the sickness, and if they indulged so would they be too. He was entirely useless as a person, a hero, or a meal. He decided his sole purpose was to repulse and scare others, living up to his scarecrow-like persona. The painful irony shook him however when he realized that regrettably, there were no crows left to scare.

* * * * * *

The Scarecrow had already travelled long and far, and his weary legs were strained and sore, but triumphantly he kept moving. The concept of the pre-apocalyptic world fascinated him, and he yearned for insight into the universe his late mother had known, and that he would never see. He looked into the grey, gloomy sky as if searching for answers, but it held none for the creature. In disappointment he looked out again to what lay beyond him as he ventured into even more unfamiliar territory, never once looking behind him. He knew looking back showed weakness in a man, and underneath his pitiful exterior, deep down he knew a man existed. Clenching his shaking fist, he moved swiftly onward.

Upon further journeying he encountered a sign, stuck steadfast into the sorry earth, wood held together with fraying rope. In an untidy scrawl written were words and symbols, but The Scarecrow could not read or identify them. He ran a gnarled finger over the bright red substance used to create such ramblings which had been inked upon the sign. Blood. Although he could not interpret what was in front of him he knew the sign echoed how strangers were unwelcome to walk before it. A wry smile passed his lips as he chose not to heed the warning and therefore proceeded onwards. He refused to be fazed by such an unwelcoming atmosphere, nor by the sight of blood. He concluded that if there was blood, there would quite possibly be human or other such life not so far ahead. He sniffed the crimson liquid that had been passed to his fingers. His heart skipped a beat. The blood was fresh.

His tattered shoes crunched on the gritty earth beneath his feet as he advanced into the unknown. Holes decorated the soles of the shoes which indeed showed they were well worn, but The Scarecrow knew they would not last him for the coming weather. He sensed a storm brewing as the gut of the sky growled terribly, ready to flood the wasteland with the rain of her sickening bile. The eternal thirst for water grasped hold of him tightly for that moment with the thought of rain preying on his mind, and he shrugged his fraying knapsack from his crippled back. Inside was a small canteen, which he put to his lips and drained the few drops of precious aqua that remained. He savoured the sweet liquid but knew the small amount would not keep up his strength. He had to find more.

With a sigh he screwed the cap and hobbled to the side of the road where he rested, and contemplated how difficult it was to survive in such a forgotten place. He closed his eyelids, lashes congealed with crust and dreamt of the Old World. Emerald green pastures, deep blue skies, water clean and food aplenty. He chuckled hoarsely to himself; it was probable that this was a highly unrealistic imagining of what the world had been like previous to his existence. Breathless and bony he embraced himself tightly, for no one else would. Momentarily beaten, he considered sleeping, praying for and dreaming of shelter from the forboding and imminent rain.

Reviews

[Paul D. Aronson]

This has "publish me" written all over it! I am so into this story you have begun. The main character is already fully realized in this short frame of time, and the narrator's voice perfectly describes the bleakness of the landscape and makes one question if there ever was a time when the world was beautiful, or if it too was just a fable. I like the entire premise of this, and i truly hope you will continue to write on this and share it here at the cafe. This is going into my favorites list for sure!