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writetomyheart2016-03-13 05:05 pm
cairistiona.livejournal.com) wrote in writetomyheart2016-03-13 05:05 pm
[TEAM ONE] Apocalypso
I wrote deathfic. I'm sorry.
They have all the time in the world. He has all the time in the world. To do things, meet people, have fun. Get married, have children.
Or at least that’s what he thought until it all comes crashing down about his ears.
“Apocalypse”, that’s the word, when suddenly it’s the end of everything as you know it, when everything is dark and terrible and far worse than you ever thought life could be. Earthquakes, hurricanes, tsunamis ravage the earth, waging war on buildings millions of years old and sweeping away entire towns of people. Islands are swallowed by the tides and impossibly-fast erosion. Technology stops working—some kind of radio interference blocking everything. No TV, no radio, no internet, no music. No electricity, so books and old furniture are burned for warmth.
Children play in the streets for fun, until gas tanks burst and flood towns with pollution and poisons. Everyone stays indoors after that, wasting away on what’s in their larders.
Suho is one of the lucky ones. He has a basement—a sealed concrete box far under the earth’s surface, and a storage cupboard full of rations to last him months. Others aren’t so lucky, and he knows of plenty who couldn’t make their food last more than a week. His kindly elderly neighbours are long gone, their house burgled in the early panic. He has no idea where his parents are, or how they are.
Although Suho has food, his water supply is dwindling, and the local reservoir is polluted with sewage and death. He needs to leave his house if he wants to survive, leaving his food without a guard. He’ll be lucky if it’s still here when he comes back.
He’ll be lucky to come back.
It’s a quiet morning, or afternoon, or night—he’s not sure; time is meaningless when the sky is perpetually grey, when his need for water comes too great.
He puts on his gas mask, seals his head and ears, puts on his scarf, gloves and thick coat, and unbolts his front door.
It’s…for a moment, it’s beautiful; all bright lights and warm sun, and he feels warmer than he’s felt in months, and happy, and then—
I'm sorry,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nachtegael, for this~~~.
They have all the time in the world. He has all the time in the world. To do things, meet people, have fun. Get married, have children.
Or at least that’s what he thought until it all comes crashing down about his ears.
“Apocalypse”, that’s the word, when suddenly it’s the end of everything as you know it, when everything is dark and terrible and far worse than you ever thought life could be. Earthquakes, hurricanes, tsunamis ravage the earth, waging war on buildings millions of years old and sweeping away entire towns of people. Islands are swallowed by the tides and impossibly-fast erosion. Technology stops working—some kind of radio interference blocking everything. No TV, no radio, no internet, no music. No electricity, so books and old furniture are burned for warmth.
Children play in the streets for fun, until gas tanks burst and flood towns with pollution and poisons. Everyone stays indoors after that, wasting away on what’s in their larders.
Suho is one of the lucky ones. He has a basement—a sealed concrete box far under the earth’s surface, and a storage cupboard full of rations to last him months. Others aren’t so lucky, and he knows of plenty who couldn’t make their food last more than a week. His kindly elderly neighbours are long gone, their house burgled in the early panic. He has no idea where his parents are, or how they are.
Although Suho has food, his water supply is dwindling, and the local reservoir is polluted with sewage and death. He needs to leave his house if he wants to survive, leaving his food without a guard. He’ll be lucky if it’s still here when he comes back.
He’ll be lucky to come back.
It’s a quiet morning, or afternoon, or night—he’s not sure; time is meaningless when the sky is perpetually grey, when his need for water comes too great.
He puts on his gas mask, seals his head and ears, puts on his scarf, gloves and thick coat, and unbolts his front door.
It’s…for a moment, it’s beautiful; all bright lights and warm sun, and he feels warmer than he’s felt in months, and happy, and then—
I'm sorry,
nachtegael, for this~~~.