Boomer: @Patastrophe, what's cooking? Today at 4:49 PM
Misha: Seriously boomer, im hungry Today at 4:50 PM
I decided to take my chances.
Patastrophe: My ass is, Boomer. Today at 4:50 PM
Patastrophe: Plan failed. Find me a B. Today at 4:50 PM
Boomer: Sorry...I don't have much over there. Today at 4:51 PM
Patastrophe: You gotta be fucking kidding me, DO IT. Today at 4:51 PM
Boomer: I honestly have nothing. I don't say this often, but I just don't. Today at 4:51 PM
I spread my arms. The stabs felt worse. I decided to try one last trick, just in case it would work.
Patastrophe: SEND LOCATION Today at 4:53 PM
Jamester: What's wrong? Need help or something? Today at 4:53 PM
Patastrophe: I LACK TIME, SEND *NOW* Today at 4:53 PM
Jamester: I gotta figure it out, hm... Today at 4:53 PM
Patastrophe: NEED MOTIVATION? Today at 4:54 PM
Jamester: Hold on, figured it out. A min... Today at 4:54 PM
Patastrophe: THANKS. Today at 4:54 PM
Jamester: alkfhsdlkf.txt Today at 4:55 PM
As I skimmed through the location he had sent, I couldn't help but smile – It was rather close. I ripped out a piece from my jacket and pressed some water mixed with alchohol to it. Then, I pressed it on the source of pain and blood I had at my stomach and felt the wound burn as I screamed because of it.
I pulled myself up on my feet half an hour later, fueled by a dozen pills and wounds. The place I'd woken up was the truck I'd seen before and the collapsed furniture I'd been left on was now marked with the red stains of blood. I looked inside under the driver's seat to find something useful and pulled out a long stick painted elegantly and a short, slightly sharp piece of metal at the thinner end. I flipped it over so that the metal end was pressing on to the ground and walked to the direction of James' marker, lending my weight to the stick. It was, I assume, not much longer than a couple kilometers but felt more exhausting than fifty. That should be just enough for a comparison if you don't forget about the coughing and aches.
***********************************
A figure moved on the ground, slouched on the fence of scraps of metal, leaving a trail of crimson blood on the pieces of aliminium, iron, copper and steel. The figure detached from the wall, spreading on the ground as it breathed in the chilly air of the wasteland. It grabbed its dirty backpack and searched for something with its hand. It pulled out a phone and tapped on it several times, the screen reacting to each tap as it should. It then zipped up the backpack, phone in hand, and crawled over to door of a piece of hinged metal. It slammed it with three delayed, tired punches. The door opened.
**************************************
I looked up at the familiar face of James, lightly altered by grease and dirt, along with a large scar spreading from his eyebrow going diagonally down to his upper lip.
"Oh my god, what have they done to you? You survived this?" he said as he threw my backpack inside and got ready to raise me up.
"Thanks bro," I leaned to the wall and took a step inside, taking some support with one hand.
",not that you look any better."
YOU ARE READING
Patastrophe
القصة القصيرةThe story of a girl in an apocalyptic world trying to get by and get by herself. Cue in the music of flames.
