Leaving RuinsMature


That's where they were headed before the power went out. My Parents, checking to see if my Grandparents were still alive.

It had taken me three days hiding away in the guest flat to come up with this decision. Three days I was thinking, grieving, while my house was picked clean by bandits. I hadn't noticed them: the guest house lays hidden deep in the forest, a ways away from the main house. It was a nice, cozy location, when the world wasn't going to shit.

Only when I decided to take a trip back to the house to gather a few more things did I notice big men with stolen weapons hauling everything they could out of the house. And when I mean everything, I mean everything. T'V's, Rotten Fruit, a portrait of my Great Grandfather. It was sad, really. There was nothing left of use in that house. Yet people where stealing things like they still had value. Did it? I wouldn't know. I hadn't been keeping up what was going on in Edinburgh for days. 

After they left, I entered my now bare house, and couldn't recognize it. I was surprised to see they hadn't stolen my fake plant, seeing as they where taking spoiled vegies. My room hadn't been left alone either. The clothes I left behind where gone, my I Heart New York cap was gone, some of the first music books I had played in when I was in primary school where gone. The blankets, the curtains: everything.

That horrid word everything. 

Thing can mean one thing. But when you add every, to it, you get a whole different meaning. I meaning that can make you the happiest bloke in the world, or one that would tear your world to shreds. A paper shredder word. 

So when the news channels said everything was affected, they were saying the whole World was in trouble. 

I hate that word everything. But hating a word? Is it possible? That's just crazy.

But the World is crazy now....too.


I'll travel by rail.

The roads are dangerous. They're dominated by scavengers, bandits, cannibals, refugees, and people who only mean trouble. 

Cars became luxuries only the wealthy could afford months ago. I'm not concerned that a stolen tank is going to roll by and force me to surrender all my goodies. But the ruthless still live. 

Houses are to be avoided too.

The few flats untainted by war probably now serve as the hidy whole for the weak who can't stand up to the bandits. The weak who have limited, but enough to get by. The weak who fight in the dark, the ones who defend with their allies the shadows. 

That was me for a while: hiding in the guest flat, making sure to look out my window every so often to check whether or not someone was interested. That was unlikely though, as the house it very isolated. 

But now I'm a traveler. A neutral. I bring no harm, I just pass through. I carry hope. Hope that there's a world still out there left to hope for. That there are people like me who only wish for a relatively normal life. People who want to love. That there are parents I still have yet to rescue, or maybe it's the reverse.

I grab my pack, filled with food, tools and camping gear. I slide a music book, the only one I have left, in the very back. I grab my guitar and my Great Grand Father's sword, and I leave. Leave ruins and enter nothing. 

The End

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