False Alarm

no, I'm not restarting this blog.

I just decided that it would be a good place to stick a few things while I keep working on the new blog site, which I'll like this blog to once it's completed.

For starters, there's my (belated) Nanowrimo entry, which I'm using as an excuse to finally get a little story I've been kicking around typed-up more quickly. My complete inability at character creation (amongst other things) make it a pain usually when I write nad I'm far too much of a perfectionist for my own good.

GREEN MACE
“Gonna lay down my sword and shield
Down by the riverside
Ain't gonna study war no more.”
African-American Spiritual

“Living in a world they didn't make;
Living in a world that's filled with hate,
Living in a world where grown-ups break the rules.
Living in a world they didn't make;
Paying for a lot of adult mistakes,
How much of this madness can they take?”
James Harris III & Terry Lewis
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The Apocalypse was Last Thursday, but like all endings it was only the beginning. Human civilisation (or, the dregs still clinging to the bottom of the proverbial global teacup) was given another roll of the dice, both to its brightest and darkest elements. After the bloodiest of wars and catastrophes, communities across the globe have fractured and reformed in isolated pockets, including many in the city of ‘Newforge’. Of these communities, some are led by individuals with passion and idealistic fervour. Others are ruled by the powerful, the poor, the hungry or none at all. One thing all have in common is their hunt for the last pieces of civilization and resources. Only a handful of these groups will withstand the tests of this New World and new Reality. Will those that have crawled out of this scarred planet destroy each other once more, or will they destroy each other like trees competing for sunlight? And if fellow humans aren't dangerous enough, the world hasn't finished with them just yet...
The actions of leaders, warriors and the people themselves will determine how and when the broken pieces of civilization will be restored to their proper places – or if civilisation as we know it will be abandoned forever.
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Prologue;

“The pioneers of a warless world are the young men and women who refuse military service.”
Albert Einstein, , who fortunately died well before the Tiananmen Massacre.
“Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the former.”
Albert Einstein, slightly closer to the mark this time.
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We humans are a funny lot; after thinking about the way things are for a while, I think I can summarise the history of the world into seven days.
On the first day, we were born. From what we know, our prehistoric ancestors had a pretty hard going down in Africa. Some apes decided walking on two feet was pretty cool and Lady Evolution decided ‘here, have the brains to pick up some pointy rocks and use them to cut your predators into bits.’ So somebody tore up something somewhere and bingo; fresh meat. And blood.
On the second, Lady Evolution pushed us along the way and so did we. We started banding together into silly groups and invented civilisation. With people ‘working together’ on murdering animals, gathering and taking what we wanted, we had more time to think. Some decided to think of new and ingenious means of filling our stomachs and keeping themselves comfortable. Then some decided they’d spend their time making the sharpest, pointiest sticks they could think of. So we started eating bigger and bigger animals, until they were all gone. And when some groups found themselves on murdering animals, gathering and taking stuff in the same place, they moved on, or used their sharper and spikier rocks or numbers to take it for themselves. Eventually, the settling of disputes with sharp pointy things and other humans as called ‘war’ and each of those fights became ‘battles’.
On the third, we graduated from hunters to farmers. We found explanations for the things we saw (science) and invented stories to explain what we couldn’t (religion). We invented history, writing and poetry. We developed ways of throwing pointy rocks at each other, first with pieces of leather or attached to wood and later as little tips fired from bows. We invented languages and words for people outside our little ‘tribes’, which shrank in some places, grew in others and sometimes became nations or multiple tribes. Decisions were so hard now that we had to have people make them for us; and politics was born.
On the fourth, these nations grew. Civilizations formed and now, we had kings and gods to die for, empires and statues to build and more weapons to build! Rome raised itself near the afternoon and died at midnight, bringing-in the fifth day. And from there, we’ve had wars, famines, plagues, disasters and all manner of other things. We have learnt more than any ancient would have imagined, but we still find things beyond even the brightest among us, like how to stop us killing each other. I think that maybe, we’ve only just finished Day Seven; I don’t know when or if things will change now, but there has never been a time like this. Not ever. We’re flying blind and the pilot just died of malnourishment.
The world was destroyed faster than most predicted, yet slower than the wrinkled placard-wearing doomies would have preferred. Global Warming reared itself like a serpent that devoured land and left barren, infertile wastes and seawater in its wake and the death of hundreds of species and crumbling biospheres certainly helped the downward spiral, but it was not enough. It was with our hands that Rome was burnt down, with our own greed and thirst for water, fuel and nourishment. I don't know who or how the first shorts were fired, but I do know the destruction it brought and the grim, horrid reality we are now faced with every day.

Since then, the city has been more divided than the Balkans and I know it isn't going to change unless someone starts shooting. But after seeing out track-record in the 'don't shoot' department, I am not entirely confident that we'll make it past that little milestone. Hell, even we'll be lucky if we're still around next year. We might be alright now, but the folks up the street are still harassing us and the others... we mostly keep to ourselves; a friendly face is rare nowadays, other than the occasional exile from Downtown. To our advantage, we know what we have to work with and our limits. I don't know what there is to be done; I know that there is much to be done if I... We managed to survive another five years. Still, I'm hopeful. If we managed to avoid being shot to pieces for half a decade, surely we can do it for another five, right?

How hard can it be? There, I've said it. I just hope that some bandits decide to try and prove me wrong again. This time at least, there won't be any issues with arms, after that lucky find in the valley. No more stand-offs, please. I think Fate owes us all a bit of rest for once.

On the topic of rest, I think I'll have to call it a day. This laptop will be off-limits soon and until the turbine is working again, I'm depending on Solar. Whatever happens, I'm glad to be alive. I have everything I need; guns, ammunition, friends and boobs. Hopefully I'll still have them next month. Until then, goodnight, future; I'll see you tomorrow.
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Night descended upon the streets of Newforge. ‘Twas an empty night; here, in this town on its northern fringe, as a slow breeze drifted across to the soft sounds of the dark. The empty roads and pavements would be a sad sight for those venturing out in the darkness; where once thousands would have been once. Blank streetlamps wilted over the street, lit only by the full moon and the stars, which (in the absence of electricity) radiated as stunningly as in the times before man polluted the skies with gas and light. On most nights, the silence was total, but it was nearing summer, and the cicadas there emerging from their underground abodes and raising a loud cacophony of chirping in the overgrown scrub of former gardens. They were not the only animals out that evening. A feral cat was prowling down the empty main street, tail aloft as it slowly crossed towards the middle of the road.
The road was flanked on both sides by an array of trees and houses; often squat two-storey blocks with weathered brick veneers and terracotta ceilings, dispersed with the off two-storey or ageing plasterboard houses, showing far more were since the passage of its owners – probably a few years gone if not dead.

The guard heard a clanging noise, reverberate around his posing. “”Bloody rats” he heard the guard behind him shout, before unleashing a cracking round into the asphalt. He stood there, looking back with a silly smirk, which failed to humour his less-than-impressed female counterpart. It certainly didn’t quite attract attention away from the loose woollen beanie, distastefully-long facial hair and the mouthful of teeth that looked like it was halfway through a game of skittles. “Third time this week”. She sighed. The rats were nowhere near as common as they had been the were before, but their numbers were bouncing-back as summer approached. “We might not have many rations, but unless the vermin get a taste for cordite...” There wasn’t much they could rake, but still, provided some worthwhile moving targets. Another shot rang from one of their rifles, piercing the skull of a large, yet scrawny-looking rodent, halfway through smuggling what looked like a mouthful of dehydrated vegetables. Plinking was the order of the day, it seemed, in lieu of actual ‘guarding’ duties. It was unusual that there would have to be two guards out, but that was clearly not their main priority.
The guards stood amongst one of the last landmarks of human settlement. It was once a gas station servicing cars speeding past the intersections, but it had since been carefully boarded-up and fortified into a checkpoint that covered the main street and a most valuable street that winded-down to one of the few areas of safe drinking water around town. From the look of the vehicles parked under covers and the red drums loaded along the side, this was more than just an outpost. The guards knew well the dangers around fuel depots. But they were paid well for their services and knew that as long as they served, they didn’t have to worry where the next drink of water or the next meal would be coming from. As they said, “Loners feed the buzzards”.
Away to the south, more people were stirring; guns at the ready – marching silently along the highway towards the checkpoint. It looked like there were around a dozen of them, with pads on their boots, which muffled most of the rap of studded boots on concrete – but not enough to fuloly-disguise the sound as the cicadas hushed as they approached. The road rose with the ridgeline upwards and the ‘AMCO barriers’ on the roadside didn’t seem too badly hit by the decade or more of neglect. Their olive uniforms were hard to distinguish, but the matching kackets, the troops were distinguishable amongst themselves, probably by way of interpretation of dress codes.
The first was wearing what looked like a slightly-singed tan beret, with stitched bullet-holes along the sides. For a man in an apocalypse, he seemed well-dressed for the most part and even carried that appeared to be a cane (a shillelagh, he would argue, though the difference was not something most would note). In an older world, veterans of his age would be fighting for healthcare benefits and pensions, not battles- but such activities were never his preferred hobbies. Now, he could finally do something he knew and understood, more than the barrel-scraping amateurs he was surrounded with on a daily basis. “ Harold.” The brunette trailing him piqued. “Contacts; estimating a mile and a half. Orders?” He paused; true, there were exceptions. Vic had proven herself to be a useful asset, especially when it came to ensuring orders were met as they were intended.
“Two shots. Double-guards. Looks like Intel actually gave us the right hand this time, people. Bozo may have fired-off first, but they weren’t shooting at us.” Still, this was not entirely something to write-off. They had fired, meaning they were at least LOOKING for things to shoot; bad news. “We’ll have to split. Victoria, you take Larry; Bravo and I will be swinging ‘round Roger. Keep distance, avoid getting lost in the scenery.
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“Are you entirely sure that this is then night? We’ve had mistake before. We don’t need another!” – “No, it is as our friend said it would be. You have nothing to worry about.” Rocketing-down the road in what looked like a jeep swallowed-up by a tank, was one of the best raiders in the areas. ‘Iz’ had ‘annihilated a gasworks’ (by accidentally disabling the safety valve & igniting it with a stray tracer shot),’ terrorised the local survivors’ (all thirteen of them) and personally overseen the deaths of thousands (if you include feral cats and foxes). She and Jay were here for the ammunition... and the fuel on offer. Command’s investment in radio communications clearly paid-off and their ‘contact’ had confirmed it; someone else was attacking the depot as well. Iz and Jay simply had to make sure that whoever won between the two was kept firmly away from the spoils, which would surely be delivered into the ‘right’ hands.
From the turret, Jay was clearly relishing the chance to give the guns a workout. “About time we put this beauty against some REAL opposition.” From underneath her Black & lightning-decaled helmet, Iz gazed intently down the road and smirked. “Opposition? If they don’t kill each other before we get there.” The silvery-blonde hair poked out from her helmet, framing her face and her keen emerald eyes. “As long as we have this beauty, I don’t think so!” They continued into the night, racing along the undulating highway, as the animals of the dusk looked-on.