The Beginning of the End

Stranded

It was that day that I walked. I walked the dreary, forgotten streets, and the shadows of despair. I roamed the tight, grimy alleys filled with scraps and debris. New York had never been the same. In it’s current state, no one would ever want to return to the junkyard it was now. Every street carved with memories, pain, sorrow, and regret.

        Times square was most disappointing. Every billboard, every bench, and every window could be found streets away surrounded by other debris. It was obvious that New York City would never return the way it had been. Even weeks later, no one had returned to recover their belongings or apartment. My apartment was luckily not one of the nearly destroyed buildings of Times Square.

I looked up and down and all around for hope to catch me. With such little improvement to my situation, I might as well end my existence on this wrecked planet. When I looked up at the Jumbotron, I saw my reflection gazing back at me, a gaze that only 10 million words could describe. I had so much to say, so much to tell, but nothing came from my mouth. I hadn’t spoken in five years. There was something inside of me telling me that speaking would cause too much trouble. Nonetheless, even if I had decided to speak, no one would be around to hear it. Taking steps made me nervous. Another tornado could hit New York City anytime now, as it had done a week before. I kicked half a car in anger as I began to cry.      

There was little hope for me. I thought to myself, if no one had come back by now, who would? Would I ever return to the vast world of communication that I had lived in before? I felt abandoned, lonely, cold, and suddenly depressed. I laid my hand upon a slick, newly painted car that reminded me of the civil world that I had once lived in before.

It was an unusually sunny day and once again, I felt the need to go inside. My apartment was only halfway intact, because the tornado had destroyed the living room. However, the kitchen and bedroom were in decent shape. I walked up the stairs shaft leading to my apartment. Most of the stairs were missing completely, and some very close to breaking, so it was a dangerous risk to take a stroll up to my bedroom.

After the people escaped from the wrecking storm, animals were taking over the island. In that week, I saw species of animals I would never assume I would find in the garbage of New York. I had little sympathy for them, because at this point they were controlling New York without the disapproval of the abusive humans. Any animal in Manhattan could agree.

I gazed down from my open view. My eyes suddenly stopped in front of the Subway entrance. Now was the time, I continued to tell myself.

I had a fear of Subways ever since the incident. But, nonetheless, I decided that it was time to face my fear, and confront my enemy. In this case, the Subway.

        Taking my first step into the Subway in five years was an emotional challenge. I could only imagine pedestrians mocking me as a look of complete fear entered my face. The stairs were cold and cracked, and the ceiling was unstable and caving in. Imminent death creeped into my mind as I looked at the dangerous cave I was entering. The Subway cars were undoubtedly missing from the empty shaft, but a sense of curiosity crept upon me. The cars had to be somewhere. For one brief moment I felt as if I could walk through the Subway shaft until I found the next city in the chain of Subways. Dare I say that. It would be too risky. The government could keep the Subway trains going until it hit me, and ended my existence on the planet. So I walked back outside and up to my half pieced-together apartment.

My parents were happily across the country. Five years ago, I flew out to New York for online college. I could have remained home, but a small town in Louisiana didn’t offer too much for my sprouting acting career. So I decided that moving to New York would improve the situation by opening my opportunities. New York was full of possibilities. Broadway acting, though, was my goal. It happened the second day I arrived in New York. From then on, I stayed in my apartment, never put a foot on concrete ground, and never spoke a single word. From then and out, I did not speak. I had neighbors that could easily shop for what I needed, but no communication was needed other than writing.