Dystopia, you’re like that old, favorite comfy sweater that you pull out to wear around the house when it gets cold. It’s been awhile since I’ve visited my favorite genre so I give you one of the many one shots found in The Vodka Made Me Do It. Thanks for reading and please leave feedback!
I carry their names The secret shapes An aching parade Around my heart
It was night when the first bombs fell. You’d been driving to Indianapolis from St Louis thanks to a one time too many delayed flight. Wolly was on the phone with your brother to go over the revised schedule. The conference has been remarkably accommodating given the circumstances.
But people tended to make exceptions for the firm of WWC.
“What’s that racket?” you heard Wolly ask. “Are those sirens?”
You could make out your brothers frantic shouts before the line went quiet.
“Is everything okay?” you’d asked but the glow in the distance caught your eye. Then another a few moments later.
“Pull over,” Wolly shouted. You switched off your iTunes and turned on the radio, eyes wide as saucers as frantic reporters barked out what they knew about the end of the world.
You’d spent the rest of the night parked on the side of the interstate processing what you’d heard. The hope of ever returning to England slowly dying as more information was revealed. Eventually the radio airwaves went silent.
“Do you know anyone here?” you almost didn’t recognize your own voice. It’d been hours since you last spoken.
“Yeah,” Wolly swallowed. “Bob is in New York, Sarah lives in Miami, Duncan is in Atlanta…”
“Anyone who is someplace that still exists on this planet?” (You’d apologize later for your tone).
“Christ,” Wolly ran his hand through his hair. “Oh fuck.”
“Giselle has a cousin that lives in Des Moines (oh God, Giselle). We’ve spoken many times on the phone.”
“Do you have an address?”
“I have a name, we can look her up.”
“Where Helena? On what?”
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