Dimension Of Perfection (And Its Flaws)

Chapter 6 - Not All Perfect

The once bustling community of Natville is completely gone.

No music. No talking. Nothing.

The main gates are rusted and rundown and now along with the wrought iron and brick fence surrounding the entrance, there is additionally a dilapidated industrial barrier blocking the original fence, littered with police tape everywhere. The entrances are sealed shut, and the scattered yellow equipment suggest it's all supposed to be demolished, but hasn't been enough of a trouble to warrant a proper job yet.

The hi-vis caution sign at the center of the gate forces its message at the whole area, practically yelling: 'RESTRICTED AREA', and lower down on the second line: 'PENALTIES APPLY'.

I kick off to flap up over the imposing fences and descend with care onto the dry, hard ground.
As I pull back up from my landing stance, my head raises and drifts around the abandoned street.

In the far distance, there is a layer of light haze, but otherwise nothing but decimated houses for as far as I can see.
Every single one is scorched with black marks in one place or another as garden foliage has started to creep up and inside the totalled walls of some of them.

My pace down the cracked and brutalised ashphalt slows to an almost stagnant crawl, as my brain attempts to process the horrific sights.

Several cars left around the street seem entirely indistinguishable from each other, all being not much more than petrified metal shells lying in a state of dormancy.

To my left, I approach to see a playground. Amidst dozens of wiry ghost trees, is a childrens slide, a set of swings with one seat swaying detached from the second chain, and a pair of monkey bars among other things.

Off further down the road, I recognise a spot outside a set of small shops and desolate restaurants. I quickly pick up my feet and reach the spot in a few seconds upon noticing it.

I remember the whole layout. The bins, the drainpipe that everyone had to avoid because it was always leaking, the faint street art scrawled on the building's walls. It's all here. Except, looking now at the area where I signed my name, there's nothing. Actually, all of the graffiti looks all just a tiny bit different. Notably a substantially bigger picture takes up more space than I remember, and most of the works that were painted over it are also missing.

My neck snaps to the entrance of the bar, and I frantically clamber through the fading doorway.

The whole bar is similarly completely unrecognisable. The bartenders work space has been destroyed, and all that remains are a few scraps of the wood bench. But what scares me the most, is that every drink in the cupboards and racks are gone. My face drops.

Cold, stale air enters my mouth in a silent gasp, as I feel an emotion that almost never occurs within me.

Sadness.

This sorrow is something I can only describe as abnormal. I know these people probably hated me, but this place all seemed like home.

I'd come here pretty regularly when I was kicked out of my usual spots, and hang around whoever was stupid enough to talk to me. I guess, this whole area is the only place I can really consider home in that sense...
And now it's all gone.

Someone must've done this, someone who doesn't like me.

And even worse, I think I know who.

As I mope back out of the room, I spot multiple egg shaped, white and blue robot carcasses, lying submerged in dried mud and battered into pieces.

Someone didn't do this.

They did this.

I catch Ze Dude's estate in my peripheral and whip myself to the direction I saw it.