Decay

Flawed Paradise

Depressing, bleak, ashen.

These are the only words that can be used to describe Aden, a once lively paradise for all beings who lived within its protective, stony embrace. Supposedly away from danger, away from wars, pacifism triumphed over all else.

Sounds perfect, does it not?

Indeed it does, although it would have been better if such promises were not simple lies, carefully weaved and fabricated by the higher-ups in order to attract more potential underdogs to their so-called 'paradise'.

The meaning of 'paradise' itself has become twisted and forgotten these past years. Nobody has time to think of anything more but the bare minimum since the day the sky collapsed and destroyed our paradise. A fiery storm, a beautiful yet tragic painting of chaos is what it was once the lifeless bombs fell, leaving lifeless bodies to fall to the ground as soon as they, metallic, nuclear behemoths, touched the ground.

And so, this present day shows a once well-known sanctuary, although fake from all aspects, it was still an improvement from the toxic environment we are forced to live in today. The rest of the world has discarded us, we're of no use to them now. Scientists, engineers, millions of brilliant minds that once inhabited paradise are now gone, either dimmed by the darkness this place radiates or withered somewhere on the pavement. Why would they help us when they can't gain anything from it? Morals? Of course not, what a silly proposition you've got. In a world such as this, morals only apply if you want to keep your public image shit-free.

Of course, morals now apply even less here since there's no point in having a public image. In fact, if any of the others did know about you, the most likely outcome would be your corpse with an axe to the head and your belongings, clothes included, gone – stolen by whoever managed to get to your sorry ass first.

Keeping a low profile is what I've done best in the 21 years I've been on this wretched planet. A quiet, humble girl to the eyes of the outsiders – there for the image and there to stay in the shadows. This has done me well, especially when stealth was required. Attacked while unarmed? Go behind the attacker and hit the back of their head or, if possible, quite literally backstab them. Need to go somewhere but a group of thugs – who, mind you, will end up cannibalizing each other once their scrap metal base runs out of resources – happens to be nearby? Stealth is your best friend. Maybe you can even nick a blade or two from their back pockets if you're good enough.

Now, I'm not exactly bragging. If anything, I'm just barely getting by. This is part of the reason why I'm now out in this hell, looking for any kind of food or source of water at the very least. I've recently discovered that my resources have been stolen by over-sized rats, affected by radiation, with teeth about as sharp as a butcher's knife. Kill them was my first option – my only option if anything – and so I took a pocket knife, followed the fuckers in their man-sized holes and stabbed them, each and every one of them, until none were left moving.

Although, I should have still been more careful. When that packet of expired sweets disappeared I should have known something was up, yet I simply ignored it out of pure stupidity.

And, still because of my very own stupidity, I am now out here, risking my life and whatever dignity I've got, should I get killed, looking for canned food or a puddle of dirty water. Tally-ho, I suppose. This is my fault in quite a lot of ways.

A small shop window catches my attention. Rancid meat lies right in the middle, maggots wriggling their fat, pale and ugly bodies on the steak which, in fact, looked like a literal pile of bovine shit as of now. Though the meat nor the maggots are the ones which would save my ass – even if maggots are packed with proteins. The array of canned, creamed rice is what caught my eye. I wasn't expecting much, and rice won't keep hunger away for long, but by God I would have smashed the decaying window with my own fist for that rice.

Gladly, that was unnecessary. The door was jammed, but it was left open. It could've been worse, it could've been locked, yet all it took was a couple of shoulder bashings. Looks like the loot for today would be creamed rice and an injured shoulder.

At least it could be worse. It could have started raining.

I eye the cans with a level of greed that even Satan himself would have been jealous of, my mouth slightly watering at the sight of the tin cans. I snatch all of the cans I could fit in my decayed, probably leather, messenger bag as if my life depended on it – which it did.

Soon after acting like a racoon in a steaming pile of trash, I leave the small rundown shop behind, making a mental note to come back to see what other life-saving supplies are hidden within its musk-filled insides.

Careless is what I've been today. Careless and painfully naïve. A mild pain hits me, its source being my arm.

'Don't worry about it, it's just some rubble, the wind picked up but you can't feel it because of that old gas mask that lay on your ugly mug.'

You'd think an idiot like me wouldn't be able to end up surviving in a place like this for more than 5 second yet here I am, alive and kicking for about 5 years now.

Soon, the pain intensifies. What is it? Oh woe, am I under attack?

Why yes, you could say that if you consider toxic rainfall a type of attacker.

Warning signs, there have been so many warning signs – a dark sky, an eerie breeze, a pungent smell of death and nuclear waste wafting in the air and even managing to somewhat penetrate my gas mask, the additional corpses of small flying creatures on the cracked concrete.

You name the sign, I've ignored it. My excuse is that I was driven by starvation – haven't eaten in around 6 days or so. But, I suppose, getting dissolved by acidic rainfall would be a worse death than starvation.

That being said, the rain started hitting harder and harder, whipping at my arms like cruel lashes of a whip, the wind mercilessly throwing rubble at whatever bare skin there was. My face was covered yet the material of the gas mask was quietly dissolving, the only sign of decay from the mask being a quiet hiss as if it was a cat kicked by a relentless child.

Unwillingly falling down to my knees, my teeth clench and my fists follow suit. The pain is unbearable, yet I do my best to endure to crawl away, to get out of this hellish firestorm – to no avail.

My body collapses, finally giving up after a short and pathetic fight against the irradiating water that's being thrown at it. My mind is the last to go, sounds become quieter, far more distant than they should be. Perhaps it's the pain, perhaps it's the oncoming peace of death, yet I don't feel the hand that grabs my frail ankles and pulls me towards safety.

As I'm flipped around, a face lay in front of me. My vision is far too blurry to identify whoever holds me in their arms as if I was a broken ragdoll. My consciousness is far too gone to even do as much as dare command my body to do anything. I don't want to embrace the void, yet the void itself forcefully embraces me, pulling me into what I hope isn't death – the feeling is far too peaceful to be death.

And so, as my conscious dims and my eyes close, I remain at the complete mercy of the stranger who embraces my limp body.

God, I hope they won't take my clothes.