"I remember baby, come home, I remember baby, come home..." I'm humming it to myself, that strange little tune as I trek down the street. My boots stomp in the muddy water, splashing it onto the little bits of wilted vegetation.
If only she knew.
Thud, thud, splash.
If only she knew.
I tug my jacket closer to my bare neck as I near the city. Or what was the city, anyways.
Bricks crumble and fall at my feet as I stagger over the fallen debris and buildings. Past the abandoned taxis, some of which have people in them. Not... living people, mind you. The other type. I am unfazed. I have seen this before. The windows are shattered and all over the ground. Doors busted, apartments fourteen stories high crumpled to the ground like paper. Cars busted open like pinatas in the vacant streets, I walk. My legs hurt. Where am I, again?
I then remember.
This isn't any city. Not just any disaster site.
This is New York City. Empty, Dead New York City.
YOU ARE READING
Jet Pack Blues - A LyricalStory Novella
Научная фантастикаFor those of you who've listened to Jet Pack Blues by Fall Out Boy (yes, I'm talking to you, OtakuGirl!), then this is the story for you. Tell me what you think!
