UNACTIVE STORY
#Written In Action
Copyright December 2016 By Benjamin Stone
"Run."
It was the last word that left my mother's mouth before she breath her last breath; the word that smoldered fear into courage; and saved my life.
Now I began my new...
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ETHAN
18 Days Ago... December 14,4080 Human Left: 134
My hand shook violently on the poles as the central tram gradually picked up its pace after departing from the last station. The lights from the outside world danced through the tinted windows and reflected upon the interior of the locomotive creating a flicker almost systematically. The train was flooded to it's capacity with passengers, some of which I knew, and some that where total strangers that I did not get or desire to know.
Unlike a lot of others, I tended to shy away from people. Like the skinny dude who kept shouting at his phone not too far in front of me, or the annoying middle aged woman who repeatedly bumps into me, each time with a different excuse.
"I'm sorry, sir. This train ride is really bumpy," she said after doing it again.
"No, you're fine," I would say, trying to sound as polite as possible, but in actuality I wished to push her off at the next stop.
We were all awaiting arrival at the same place, Orion City. The new national capital to the last survivors of the past brutal and horrifying events.
The electronic female voice that occasionally pierced through the train's hidden speakers constantly reminded me of that. My new home. My new life. Every monstrous thing that had happened to me in the last few months was finally over. At least that was what I was trying to convince myself into believing, but honestly I couldn't help but surmise that my tribulations were far from over. I knew it wasn't, for my dreams and thoughts would bring it all back if I forgot. I could still hear the dreadful screeching and see the the horrid sights that were in them , and I would like say that my old life only existed in my imagination, that my memories were locked away in the place below me. Literally.
Through the window that was planted beneath my feet was a desert like area, lifeless trees sprawled about, with ridged and broken boulders every few miles. The environment was barren and desolated. Completely empty. Some called it the Wastelands, others called it a prison, and then there was the minority, who called it a death faction. Whatever the case, all the titles were appropriate.
My eyes, which had been previously stuck to the transparent floor, shifted to that of a fat man in a tattered blazer, which was equally drenched in sweat as it was constricted around the his waist. He gave me a fake smile to let me know I was making him awkward, then flapped open the Daily Orion magazine to avoid eye contact with any other peculiar people. Naturally I turned my head away from him to look down at my own brochure that was currently ripped to shreds, thanks to an excited dog I crossed paths with when boarding the tram.
I was trying to make since of the words between each ridged edge, knowing it would help me in the long run, but I didn't succeed. My friend Adam tapped me on the shoulder in the middle of the process of my reading, enclosing my attention to him instead.
