Things Fall Apart

2. The Radio House

During six years, they wandered in the wasteland.

In six years they had built themselves a new home out of trash, and found themselves new friends they would have been ready to die for.

Mikey never talked again.

He wasn't Mikey anymore. Gerard wasn't Gerard either. They were the names society had given them. But now that this same society had turned against them, they couldn't carry anything on them that had to deal with it anymore. They abandoned their roots. They denied the grip of a society they despised on their existence by denying everything it had given them, to their names, taking control and choosing their own. They were born again with a new identity, a mask under which they could hide their shameful humanity and names that would be remembered for centuries. They were Party Poison and Kobra Kid.

Their lives weren't as comfortable as they would have been if they had remained under the control of the BL/I, in their city which had been renamed. And maybe the clothes were all the wrong sizes and the colours that they now bought not as bright as before, maybe life was tougher and food tasteless but they were free. Free as they had never been. They had an identity, they had a distinctive size and a shape now, they weren't just citizens slurred in the mass, but individuals.

They had found a cause to fight for, a reason to live. They knew everybody wanted to change the world, but nobody wanted to die and that's why they were going to give it a try.

They thought they were immortals, and they called themselves Killjoys.

Only a few hours after they fled the city, they found another boy, in the desert. They were scared at first, because they didn't know whether the latter was a refugee just like they were, or an agent of the BL/I. The two brothers were dirty, exhausted and starving: not in a well enough state to defend themselves. So they just hid behind a pile of waste. They didn't have any names anymore and hadn't chosen new ones just yet. They were two nameless boys, lost in the desert, observing a stranger with funny hair, looking as awful as they did.

The older one of the nameless boys eventually peeped from behind the pile of waste.

What else did he have to lose anyways?

"Hi." He said. The stranger turned around, and the boy suddenly noticed he was wounded: there was blood all around his right eye, running down his face. He probably was blinded.

"Don't be scared." The boy continued.

"I'm not scared." The stranger with the funny hair said. "My name is..."

"Shh." The boy cut him. "I don't want to know."

"Have you fled the city as well?" The stranger asked.

"Yes, my brother and I did." The boy replied, beckoning his younger brother over, still hidden behind the pile of trash.

"Would you have a drink to share?" He then enquired.

"That's what I'm looking for." The stranger replied. "In the trash. There must be cans or bottle that hadn't been drunk yet."

"True." The boy admitted. "We'll help you search."

Indeed, fifteen minutes later the three of them had found six untouched cans of different sodas in the piles of trash. The drinks were hot and all the gas evaporated, but it still felt refreshing.

"It's crazy how all that's left of our childhood is the taste of flat drinks in rusty cans." The boy observed.

"I've never noticed it before coming here." The stranger added. "But I reckon you're right."