It's post apocalypse, and I have to save Australia.
Bombs have gone off. Everyone is on trains just to go, to get out, go somewhere that isn't home and invested with druggos, people who have lost their hope in life and are waiting for exposure to the elements or another bomb to end their existence. Doped up on meth, they smile at you and ask for twenty dollars - "I need a drink, I need a drink real bad".
My parents are still alive. They sit next to me, looking through brochures as they take the train up to the coast. They won't let a national risk dissuade them from their holiday. They don't seem to realise that a bomb went off three blocks up the street, killing their oldest son. And they don't seem to realise that their youngest daughter has somehow become their only grandson.
"Paddington Station has been split in half," a young girl who I used to go to school with remarks, twirling her hair around a finger. "You should get off at the Exhibition Station if you want to go to New York City. Roma Street is unreachable."
My goal is...I don't know what my goal is. The methhead across from me bops her legs a hundred times a minute. She's been on the train as long as I have, a wanderer, lost in the sea of chaos her home has become.
She gives me a smile. "You're very pretty, Dylan," she manages, her lips cracked and bleeding from the amount of times she's been biting them over the journey.
And then I wake.
|comments: Promo time?|