Jump to content



Recommended Posts

O.k this is a story I just wrote. It seems kind of sadistic right now and is intended for mature audiences. It's only the beginning though and if anyone likes it I'll do more.

A figure stands atop a pile of rubble and glass; a silouette against an orange, sunless sky. Beads of sweat drop down into his eyes, creating a blurry cascade of colors in front of him. Rarely the recipiant of such a beautiful image, the figure hesitates before whiping his eyes with a dirt smeared arm. This figure is a twenty-two year old man by the name of Julio. Like most people his age, he has associated himself with a syndicate.
Unfortunatly for Julio he was born in what some would call a post apoctalyptic world where time seems to stand still. The sky never darkens; a blazing limbo serving to remind mankind of the terror and catastrophy it had brought upon itself and nature. Noone knows who attacked who first, but what followed could only be described as the end of the world; the dropping of bomb after bomb, shrapnel digging into the skin of man and beast alike, showing sympathy for noone. Surely God shed a tear as his creation known as Earth was ravaged by his offspring before his very own eyes.
What was once known as the United States, was founded on the gaining of wealth through the acquiring of land. History has repeated itself. What little viable land that remains is controlled by three different men and one woman. Each landowner runs their own respective syndicate consisting of the survivors of the apocalypse. Julio is such a person. Julio is not considered a person. He is just like everyone else in his position; trying to bust his balls so that he can become a lord instead of a tennant, live the good life. Sadly enough, hope seems lost for Julio. Under his arm rested a neat little package, that would almost have ensured that his boss would have acquired an extra 100 acres of land, but poor Julio lost the envelope and was unable to convince the high council of his boss's postition on his own.
Julio has done good in the past however; he has always pulled through. Maybe this one little mistake wouldn't hinder his climb to success. A small smile spread across Julio's face as a warm feeling of confidence spread through his body. The rest of the walk seemed quite cheerful. After all, Julio was lucky; most people in his postition only lived to be seventeen. Death was always a silent on-looker, never lingering too far behind. It came in so many forms, that it had no definite look, or smell, but the feeling of death was ALWAYS there. It could have been a diseased insect, or a bird carrying a virus, and even an acid based virus lingering in a small drop of water. Yes, Julio has gotten to know Death quite well over the years, they just haven't been to personal with one another.
Julio finally reached his boss's office, which happened to be a crumbled hotel, and knocked cordially to hear a gruff "Who is it?" When Julio finally entered the room, he found Max, his lord sitting behind his desk eating the rarest of delicacy's: a chicken. Only the most powerful people in the world could eat one of these rare creatures. Julio, himself had been raised on bone extract and had never even seen a real chicken meal. As the smell filled his nose, he became sick as a pang of hunger attacked. His Lord was growing impatient as he growled, "So whadda hell happened?"
Max, was a mountain of a man. His shirt was stained with sweat and greese as roll after roll of fat fought to stay concealed in the ever stretching shirt clinging to his back. Whenever Max wasn't eating he was sucking on an unlight cigar or rolling it in his fingers. The cigar was the only one left in the world and had to be at least twenty five years old. The smell was unbearable. On Max's arm was a tattoo of an Elephant, although Julio didn't know the name of the animal, for it had been extinct now for fifty years. Max had seen him looking at the tattoo once and told him that the beast was known as a Tiger. This beast would suck a man's flesh off in five seconds flat with it's enormous trunk. Julio felt a shiver go down his spine as he watched Max suck the flesh off the chicken before his eyes. Seeing his boss grow more impatient, Julio timidly told him the story.
At first he saw a wave of anger sweep across his Lord's face, but it quickly vanished with a sudden placid stare and then a grin. Max explained, as he threw a piece of chicken to his three-legged dog, that he understood perfectly and he appreciated Julio's honesty. He then stood up, which startled Julio, as he had never seen Max on his feet, and spoke sternly "Julio, you understand dis, if you evah miss anyting up like dis, den you'll end up right back on da rubble where I's found ya, capeesh?"
Julio understood perfectly and accepted a new piece of neatly folded paper, which he tucked in his tattered coat's pocket almost sacredly. He wouldn't mess up this time; he could never live in the rubble again. Fate has no mercy for the ignorant however. Julio finally made it to his destination: A small rebel group by the name of Genocide. He smiled on the inside as he realized that his boss, had sent him to make peace with; perhaps even form an alliance with one of the most powerful rebel groups in the known world. Well, that's what Julio was there for, but little did he know that HE was the piece offering. The men looked at Julio with starving eyes after reading the paper and were instantly upon him, tearing at his young flesh with greedy teeth and nails. Julio tried to manage a scream, but it quickly became drowned out as they bit down on his throat. Julio made a fine meal, that day, and Max became a little bit more powerful. All the while a forboding hand burst out of a pile of rubble seven miles away.
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now

  • Create New...