The Blast

work

An inevitable hardship, too necessary to be disregarded so carelessly. With the prospect of work, comes workers. Ants, cogs in a machine so to say. Work is grueling, exhausting, gut wrenching, and can sometimes border on horrific.
As a worker, it's almost impossible to feel like an individual, especially considering the conditions of your industry, and the conditions of such an overblown society.
After the nuclear blast there was little to build on. At first, people were elated that they had been ones that survived such a horrific event, but then realized the effort that went into rebuilding a society.
Mobians quickly began to turn on each other, making the world a kill or be killed territory by default.
Luckily, there wasn't a large percentage of the already fleeting surviving mobians to begin this post-apocoliptic uprising, as most mobians are peaceful by default.
The more selfish of the surviving population had migrated, probably underground, suggesting they may be planning something, or would rather be alone.
Shadow had considered joining the politically backwards social group, less he be grouped with a handful of overly optimistic, "apathy is a tragedy" mobians.
However he didn't quite agree with the other side as much either. A side that decided in the face of desperation it is acceptable to abandon all of your morals. While shadow came to find out that this may or may not be somewhat true, after stumbling across a trauma inducing dilemma and ultimately throwing his morals out the window out of pure desperation and hunger. He wasn't proud of what he did, in fact, he hated every second of it.
While no one else had known of his terrible decision, he couldn't help but feel like less of a person due to his actions.
Of course, eating a mobian corpse due to unbearable starvation shouldn't be so hard to understand from an outsider perspective, sure, anyone probably would have stooped to such a level in the name of survival, but it was immoral.
The corpse was discovered as he scavenged around, his stomach empty and his vision blurred. It had suffered in the blast, an unfortunate outcome for the mobian, but a golden opportunity for shadow to regain his strength. When he saw the corpse, he wrestled with his thoughts, his morals actively clashing with his instinct to survive.
Reluctant and somewhat disgusted with himself, he began to set up a fireplace, catching glimpses of the corpses lifeless eyes, staring into the distance. The corpse had been fresh, meaning shadow had probably only found it a day or two after it's passing. It's eyes were still glimmering with a hopeful sparkle that didn't mean anything anymore now that it was no longer alive.
Shadow had finished setting his fireplace up, the almost living glow of the corpses eyes becoming unbearable, and he closed it's eyes gently. He observed the body, feeling disgusted with himself, but desperate for a release from the pain and exhaustion he felt.
If I don't eat tonight, I'll die in my sleep...
He clutched his hand crafted knife in his fingers, hesitation being the only thing holding such a sharp silence in the air.
When lifting the corpses arm, he flinched at how cold the host was. This mobian is dead. This individual has passed away tragically and shadow was going to eat the corpse. He thought about what he was doing. Seemed like the only thing you could do these days was think, and think, and think.
With a hard swallow and a blink, shadow had set the arm down. He laid the corpse down completely, folding it's arms across it's chest and bowing his head in silence. It seemed to him, as an incredibly disrespectful act to not say a few words. While he didn't know this mobian personally, he was sure there were people alive who did know it, and he began to pray for forgiveness.
After his prayers, his hands shook as he began to cut into the fatty flesh of the thigh. It made an audible squelching sound that he winced at.
He had taken a considerable amount of flesh from the leg, saving a large amount of it in a baggie for the moments in the future where desperation is the only constant.
He cried when he had finished eating.
That mobian was buried with a respectable tombstone, shadow had carved the name found on the mobians drivers license into the large stone, hoping his family may find him, or friends, or neighbors, to honor him.
Shadow had done an awful thing, and no amount of respect he had for the dead mobian could change that.
While that happened quite a while ago, though, he couldn't pinpoint exactly how long ago it had been since he had done such a thing, as time begins to blur these days, but he knew he was beginning to run out of mobian flesh. He had cut them into bits and cooked them, so whenever he ate it, he could just think of beef jerky and try his hardest to get past his deed.
There's no place for guilt and remorse in this society, he came to find out.
He hardly thinks about it when he eats the "jerky", or he's beginning to forget the act he committed. It seems rather disrespectful to forget having done such a thing, but the burden of knowing you had committed such acts must be greater than any disrespect anyone had ever felt. He noticed he would forget doing desperate things, especially if they involved moral injustice or anything somewhat traumatic. He was often left confused, finding something on him he hadn't remembered picking up, where he picked it up, how he retrieved it, it was just there.
The blast may have affected his memory somehow. He did remember hitting his head pretty hard on the corner of a table as the blast happened, but everything after that was pure blinding whiteness... Then he woke up. Most things around him, destroyed, the people he had come to be acquainted with, gone.
It was one of the only times he had felt truly alone, and instead of comfort, all he felt was terror.