Just a passing phase

[DarkAsmodeous]

Well, seeing as I'm obsessed with post-apocalyptice nuclear fallout media, I thought I'd make a thread for my rantings.

To start it off! The begening of something? The end of it? Perhaps the middle? Will I finish it? Is it any good? I 'ono!




He stood at the crest of the ash covered hill, the grey snow fall fresh from the previous night, and turned his gaze to the eastern horizon. He was looking for movement, that of a truck specifically. They had recently heard from the drifters they passed on the riverbank that there were Reavers nearby. And that they had gasoline. Across the fields of gray there was nothing to be seen; the few houses this far off the main road had long since been torched by either Reavers or lightning, and their ruins dotted the otherwise sterile landscape. He felt a hand rest on his shoulder, and turned to see the man who stood behind him. His name was Jason; he wore a thick brown leather trench coat over jeans and a tattered brown T-shirt and stood proudly at his full 6 feet and 5 inches. Holding his rusted iron monkey wrench like a weapon, Jason was a hell of a man.
?You see anything?? inquired Jason as he stroked his unkempt dark brown beard, which matched his unkempt greasy hair perfectly.
?If there?s anything alive out there, I can?t see it.? He handed the canteen, an unmarked dull grey piece of salvage, to Jason. He drank as deeply as he dared before handing it back.
?Well Ben, we best get a move on anyway, we aren?t prepared for a raid in the night, chances are if it happens, they?ll know exactly where we are, and we won?t be able to see a thing.?
?I suppose you?re right?? replied Ben with an exhausted sigh. He ripped his makeshift facemask of red cloth off of his face, and proceeded to hastily drink the remainder of the water before tossing the empty container to a quizzical looking Jason.
They set off down the ashen hillside, tasting ash through their masks as their feet lifted it from the ground. Ben wore a pair of aviator goggles on him at all times, he didn?t like ash storms. He didn?t like them at all. As the duo marched westward at a steady pace they stood in stark contrast to one another. Though both bore wounds and scars from battles and trials past, Jason wore them like a crown, standing proudly, happy to just survive; Ben was a different matter entirely. Aged more than his 34 years, he had developed a defeated frown, his clothes fit loosely around him as he never allowed himself to feast, even in the rare occasions when food was near abundant, always being on the verge of death you could say he was ready for it. Despite the rather grim state of the world, Ben was the rarity and Jason the standard. Few could bring themselves to accept the world as it was as their life. They fought on, each morning they woke one day closer to death, but to them they were just one day closer to escaping this hell, to finding happiness. Those like Ben, those who saw what their life was to consist of, never kept the will to live for very long, and their kind was becoming increasingly harder to find. Then again, so was everybody.

[DarkAsmodeous]

Well, with feedback from other sources this has begun to take a bit more shape. I'd love to hear what you all think.

He stood at the crest of the ash covered hill, the grey snow fall fresh from the previous night, and turned his gaze to the eastern horizon. He was looking for movement, that of a truck specifically. They had recently heard from the drifters that sometimes they passed on the riverbank that there were Reavers nearby. And that they had gasoline. Ben hadn?t seen a moving vehicle in months, gasoline was too precious and too scarce; But if you had enough, and a car, you could make it out west. Across the fields of gray there was nothing to be seen; the few houses this far off the main road had long since been torched by either Reavers or lightning, and their ruins dotted the otherwise sterile landscape. He felt a hand fall on his shoulder, and turned to see Jason who stood behind him.
?You see anything?? inquired Jason as he stroked his unkempt dark brown beard, which matched his unkempt greasy hair perfectly. He wore a thick brown leather trench coat over jeans and a tattered ?Che? T-shirt. He stood proudly at his full 6 feet 9 inches. Holding his rusted iron monkey wrench like a weapon, Jason was a hell of a man.
?If there?s anything alive out there, I can?t see it.? He handed the canteen, an unmarked, dull grey piece of salvage, to Jason. He drank as deeply as he dared before handing it back.
?Well Ben, we best get a move on anyway, we aren?t prepared for a raid in the night. Chances are if it happens, they?ll know exactly where we are, and we won?t be able to see a thing.?
?I suppose you?re right?? replied Ben with an exhausted sigh. He ripped his makeshift facemask of red cloth off of his face, and proceeded to hastily drink the remainder of the water before tossing the empty container to a quizzical looking Jason.

They set off down the hillside, tasting ash through their masks as their feet lifted it from the ground. Ben wore a pair of aviator goggles on him at all times. He didn?t like ash storms; he?d seen too many men go blind to feel otherwise. As the duo marched westward at a steady pace they stood in stark contrast to one another. Though both bore wounds and scars from battles and trials past, Jason wore them like a crown, standing proudly, happy to just survive; Ben was a different matter entirely. Aged more than his 34 years, he had developed a defeated frown, his clothes fit loosely around him as he never allowed himself to feast, even in the rare occasions when food was near abundant. Always being on the verge of death you could say he was ready for it. Despite the rather grim state of the world, Ben was the rarity and Jason the standard. Few could bring themselves to accept the world as it was as their life. They fought on. Each morning they woke one day closer to death, but to them they were just one day closer to escaping this hell, to finding happiness. Those like Ben, those who saw what their life was to consist of, never kept the will to live for very long, and their kind was becoming increasingly difficult to find. Then again, so was everybody.

They left a trail in the ash covered Arkansas countryside, transformed into a desolate wasteland without the life giving rays of the sun. Gnarled and twisted branches of sparse vegetation reaching skyward, their dying form all but devoid of leaves. And though it was in many respects like a desert, the air was chill. The cold winds this far south were bearable, but in the north they could kill. They trekked for a few hours before Jason broke the silence.
?Anyone ever tell you that you?re an awful scout?? and without looking he reached his hand into the deep pocket in which he kept his wrench. Ben started to look back at Jason when he snapped at him.
?Don?t look you idiot! They?ve been following us for a little under an hour, not sure what to make of them.? Ben was more than a little insulted that Jason had not informed him the moment he had noticed the stalkers, but he?d get over it. He would much rather face them now than in the night.
?Hey! Come on out, we?re unarmed, I?m sure we can talk this over.? As he shouted, Ben withdrew a Berretta with a half expended magazine, and held it under his flight jacket. four silhouetted figures rose from the surrounding hills. They approached slowly, and carefully, picking their way over the cables and poles of the long fallen power lines. One figure came to the front, and confronted the two travelers, brandishing an electrical pipe with a makeshift cloth grip. A pair of his fellow Reavers filled up behind him as he prepared to speak. One held back and squatted in the road. The man at the forefront began to speak.
?My, my, my, my, my! Thank Heavens we found you two! It?s dangerous out in the wastes, especially just the two of you!? He was met by snickers from behind. Jason took a step forward.
?Your numbers aren?t much greater than ours, pal.? Jason was already framing this to be a fight, Ben was worried. He used his free hand to gesture Jason back before surveying the scum that stood before him. He wore a faded black Hell?s Angels jacket which bore bullet holes in the chest. It was apparent that they must have shot the previous owner. Ben did not want have whatever gun had made the holes pulled on him. The man?s head was shaved and his mouth was obscured by a stained medical face mask.
?Look, Jason has five day?s food of canned tomatoes and beans, we need two days worth to survive to the next outpost, but we can offer you the rest in exchange for a peaceful end to this.? They would need far more than two day?s food to make it to Vega, but the offer was sincere enough; Ben would prefer to not be outnumbered in a fight.
?I?m afraid that won?t do. Do you really think we?d settle for anything less than it all with you being unar?? He never finished the sentence. The second he had begun to shake his head Ben had lunged forward and spun the butt of the pistol in a wide arc into the side of the man?s head. He collapsed to the ground; a pool of deep red began to form, standing vibrantly defiant of the faded world of ash. Long before the fallen man?s flunkies could react Jason had smashed one of their heads in with his wrench. Grey matter mixed with bone oozed from the collapsed skull. As the other withdrew a rusted crowbar stained red, Jason dropped to one knee. His trench coat spread on the ground around him, he was surrounded by a haze of ash. Then, pushing off of his risen knee, he brought his wrench, with both hands, into the remaining man?s stomach. He slumped to the ground, doubled over in pain. Already blood began to flow from his open mouth, discoloring his body and the earth. He began to plead to the brown haired giant who stood above him.
?I beg of you? please?? And then Jason brought the wrench down.

Jason?s breathing was heavy. He pulled the wrench up slowly from the mess of a man that lay at his feet. He never took his eyes off the man who now stood a good 10 feet away from him. Caught by surprise, the three men had fallen easily enough, but this was different. Jason knew far better than to underestimate the risk of an encounter with Reavers. They made their way in the world through killing and thievery. Those that survived knew their trade well. Jason wiped his brow on his sleeve. Despite the frosty air, he had begun to sweat profusely.

[IAMTHEEMPEROR]

That is a very good story :goodjob:

[Ja-Kha'jay]

Good, if slightly depressing, read mate. Well done. :goodjob: :goodjob:

[DarkAsmodeous]

Thanks a lot guys, I hope to keep expanding it so I'd like to ask for a little help from you. Could you tell me what it is precisely that you liked? Anything that didn't flow well? Anything you didn't like? I'm really looking to improve as a writer, and I've found this is the best way to do it, so fire away an critique you have.

[Ja-Kha'jay]

it ends a little abruptly, like there should be more

[DarkAsmodeous]

Excelent point, and there will be! I did not want to mention that, as it often leads to people to tihnk you should be exempt from critique of incomplete ideas. I WANT to know what is incomplete so I have a solid idea of what must be elaborated on in future expansion.

[IAMTHEEMPEROR]

They never reached their destination. That's what seems to be the abrupt end to me.

[DarkAsmodeous]

Because she is incomplete ^^ It is very abrupt, but I have found I'm not sure what to write next (There is a small amount past this that I'm stuck at) and I was hoping to see critique of what I have already finished so that I can revise accordingly, and perhaps in doing so find inspiration.

[Seniosh]

The Reaver begging sounds a bit strange, but prehaps because when i hear the word Reaver, i immediately think of the movie Serenity, where the reavers eat people.

Of course if you were trying to show that a group of murderous thieves who live at the expense of other people were once human, you've accomplished the point.

Also, the Che T-shirt is kind of funny and ironic, seeing as the famous communist revolutionary is now a prime example of capitolism and marketing. His face is on everything... he'd be horrified