Post by Moonlight on Aug 26, 2009 11:01:50 GMT -5
Alright, so this is the second story in my post-apocalyptic setting collection. (I think I may make it a collection.) This one, however, deserves a WARNING. This story is for mature audiences and includes swearing, graphic images, and is kind of sick and twisted in places. Enjoy!
Giant fu cking ants. Products of the FEV, short for Forced Evolutionary Virus. Who knew the only way for an ant to evolve was to get bigger. They’d wrecked my home, killed my family, and basically made life fu cking unbearable for us folks trying to scratch out a living in this abominable wasteland. You’re probably thinking I’m crazy, “It’s an ant, get over it.” Tell me it’s just a fu cking ant when it drags you sister screaming down a whole to be used as food for the colony. They are strong, and have no emotion- no remorse. No matter how many you kill, no matter how much guts of their brothers and sisters get sprayed on them they just keep coming, non-flinching with beady little eyes. I hate beady little eyes.
So there I was, on a hillside of brown dirt watching the sun set behind the ruins of my own colony. I warmed my hands in the fire, and took a sip from the flask that I had with me. It took all my willpower not to spit it out. Water was water, but this water was dirty, irradiated sh it. Irradiated water starts to get to your stomach after awhile- makes you nauseous, but then again you need water to live. Right? I forced the stuff down, and stared back at the ruins of my home.
Three families, including my own, had settled into those building on the horizon. Most of the radiation had died away, and some of the structures were still intact making it a safe place to live- or so we thought.
I was….18…no, 19. I think my birthday was last week. Happy fu cking birthday. I took another swig from the flask.
So, my parents were on the first floor of the building we had claimed as our own. Things were looking pretty good after we had found that working fridge and they were going though and properly storing the food. Lucy was out front jumping rope- you’d be amazed what pre-war traditions survived and which didn’t. I was upstairs, by myself, flipping through the frequencies on an old radio. Mostly it was static, but every so often we’d pick up an old coot broadcasting something. I’d just tuned into station that was playing a song, “Wake me up before you go-go,” when I heard a shrill scream.
Ants
Giant fu cking ants. Products of the FEV, short for Forced Evolutionary Virus. Who knew the only way for an ant to evolve was to get bigger. They’d wrecked my home, killed my family, and basically made life fu cking unbearable for us folks trying to scratch out a living in this abominable wasteland. You’re probably thinking I’m crazy, “It’s an ant, get over it.” Tell me it’s just a fu cking ant when it drags you sister screaming down a whole to be used as food for the colony. They are strong, and have no emotion- no remorse. No matter how many you kill, no matter how much guts of their brothers and sisters get sprayed on them they just keep coming, non-flinching with beady little eyes. I hate beady little eyes.
So there I was, on a hillside of brown dirt watching the sun set behind the ruins of my own colony. I warmed my hands in the fire, and took a sip from the flask that I had with me. It took all my willpower not to spit it out. Water was water, but this water was dirty, irradiated sh it. Irradiated water starts to get to your stomach after awhile- makes you nauseous, but then again you need water to live. Right? I forced the stuff down, and stared back at the ruins of my home.
Three families, including my own, had settled into those building on the horizon. Most of the radiation had died away, and some of the structures were still intact making it a safe place to live- or so we thought.
I was….18…no, 19. I think my birthday was last week. Happy fu cking birthday. I took another swig from the flask.
So, my parents were on the first floor of the building we had claimed as our own. Things were looking pretty good after we had found that working fridge and they were going though and properly storing the food. Lucy was out front jumping rope- you’d be amazed what pre-war traditions survived and which didn’t. I was upstairs, by myself, flipping through the frequencies on an old radio. Mostly it was static, but every so often we’d pick up an old coot broadcasting something. I’d just tuned into station that was playing a song, “Wake me up before you go-go,” when I heard a shrill scream.