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Archive for December, 2009

A Sore Sight

Thursday, December 10th, 2009

soreeyes1
No more than five minutes later my wits begin to return.
First I sit up…
Another five minutes or so and I stand…
How? Surely I was near death.
Five more minutes and I feel almost perfect- at least as perfect as I’ve ever felt. Absurd.
It must be in the fruit.
Complete rejuvenation.
The pungent smells persists, but alas, I can see it. I’m only about a hundred feet closer than I was on the bridge, but it is clear:
That is a junkyard.
A sore sight for sore eyes.

Disgestion

Thursday, December 10th, 2009

I wake to the stench.
Putrid. Noxious.
I gag a few times before I realize where I am.
Dead?
I reason that I cannot be. Whatever death is, it won’t be as bad as this place.
I can’t stand. I struggle to even sit.
Face up, I reach for my pack and extract my canteen and a fruit.
First the water, then the fruit.
It seems like hours before I can swallow.
A faint memory tells me it’s not good to eat while lying down.
Something about digestion…I wake to the stench.
Putrid. Noxious.
I gag a few times before I realize where I am.
Dead?
I reason that I cannot be. Whatever death is, it won’t be as bad as this place.
I can’t stand. I struggle to even sit.
Face up, I reach for my pack and extract my canteen and a fruit.
First the water, then the fruit.
It seems like hours before I can swallow.
A faint memory tells me it’s not good to eat while lying down.
Something about digestion…
Digestion

The Bridge

Sunday, December 6th, 2009

The Bridge

Here it is.
Not a metaphorical bridge as I anticipated.
Instead, just a bridge. Plain and simple.
I’ve been walking for hours and just as a potential location for robotics graced my view, a massive bridge did as well- stretching across the murkiest contamination I have ever seen.
Of course the middle of the bridge is bombed out.
Briefly I consider swimming across, but the smell alone is enough to warn me against it. Forget engulfing myself in that fluid.
So what now?
I walk out to the unstable edge. The other side must be at least forty feet away. Not even close enough to throw my pack over.
I can see what looks like a junkyard in the distance, although admittedly everything looks like a junkyard around here.
I sit down and stare down at the infested water, layered with a thick film of some unknown substance.
A piece of driftwood bobs rhythmically below.
I stare for a minute.
I can build a raft… Maybe.
With what?
Ahead there is nothing…
To my left there is nothing…
Ditto to my right…
Behind me…
Behind me stand four husky, unfriendly looking men.
How did I let them sneak up on me? Stupid. How long have I been staring at this river?
“Drop the gun.” One says.
Instinct grabs hold of me and I squeeze the trigger on the submachine gun.
Jammed.
“That was a mistake.” Another says.
Cid, what kind of a fucking engineer are you?
A brick smashes the side of my head and I hit the ground
“Get his bag.”
Luckily I’m still conscious after the blow. Barely.
Only one option.
I slide of the bridge.
Malicious laughter as I drop.
I feel blood slide upwards across my forehead.
Splash.
“He’ll be dead soon anyway.” I hear, “If that water doesn’t kill him the infection will.”
I panic and swim frantically to the other side.
Infection? I can’t remember what that means…
First I smell the blood, then the sewage, then the vomit as I pull myself onto the shore.
Then I collapse…