Bristol: June 27th, 1993 (491 days since the bombs dropped).
I walk through the dense forest with my compass in hand. I'm heading mostly north. The straps of my backpack dig into my shoulders as I struggle to carry my supplies. I had already been walking for 3 days, and I've had no sleep for 24 hours now. My body grows weaker with each passing step. My limbs and mind scream at me to just collapse onto the ground and sleep. But I cannot do that under any circumstances.
Because I'll freeze. Ever since the bombs dropped, the sun has been shrouded in ash and smoke, preventing its glorious rays from reaching us. Each day is grey and barely lit. And even summertime drops below freezing on occasion.
As I thought that, a fowl wind blew from the trees and blasted me with its cold and deathly grip. Despite all the clothing I was wearing, The padded coat, the jumper, the long-sleeved T-shirt, and the tank top—the wind penetrated through and caused the skin of my torso to grow firm and bumpy in reaction.
I pulled my beanie deeper over my head, covering my ears further as a response and continued on.
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Finally, I had made it. Breaking free of the treeline, I came upon a rich people's estate. As far as the eye could see, two-story houses stood strong despite the initial waves of the war. I walked down a small hill and towards the back door of one of the houses. A white plastic door with a window leading into a laundry room. I attempt to open the door, only to quickly find out it's locked. Many people locked their doors before leaving. They assumed they would be able to come back home. An idiotic assumption.
I slam my elbow into the window as hard as I can. The window does not crack so much, and I wince from the pain before grunting and slamming my elbow against the glass once more. The glass shatters, and my arm now sticks into the home.
I reach my arms through the broken window and grab on to the sides of the door. I'm very careful not to cut myself as I press my foot on the bottom of the window frame and pull myself through.
I tumble and fall onto a cool tiled floor. I get back to my feet, walk through the door in front of me, and enter a kitchen. It's much larger than the one in my apartment. I walk over to the fridge and grab the handle. I pull my bandana over my face, prepared to open the door and be assaulted by the fowl stench of rot. However, once I do build up the strength to open the fridge, I am pleasantly surprised by only nonperishable foods and drinks. My eyes go wide as I spot a can of Irn-Bru.
I hadn't had an Irn-Bru in the better half of a year, so I quickly grabbed the can and cracked it open. I was happy to hear that it still had fizz. I drank the entire can then and there before throwing the empty can in the bin I saw next to the fridge.
I burped through my nose before continuing deeper into the house.
I come across the cabinets and open them. I land my eyes on an opened pack of digestive biscuits. I smirked slightly before grabbing them. I haven't eaten in almost a whole day, so I quickly grab two of them and stuff them in my mouth.
I go on to eat another five. I moan with delight as I do so. I burp again.
I continue into a living room. Two couches and a fireplace. I look at the bucket containing the firepokers.
These people were rich.
I think to myself.
I walk up the stairs of the house. I see many doors. Opening one of them reveals a bedroom with a single bed. I search around the house, happening upon a dresser, which I quickly rifle through.
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Socks, T-shirts, dress shirts, a bottle of vodka...
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I look at the bottle. Great for disinfecting cuts. And it helps if you're sleeping in a cold and uncomfortable place. I put the bottle in my backpack.
Continuing my search, I find a magazine. I take it to the bed and lie down. This is not an ordinary magazine, but an adult magazine. I open the magazine, hoping the person who owned this house was not a homosexual. Turning to a random page, I see a shirtless woman. She lies on a couch in a seductive manner. She's blonde with shoulder length hair.
I run my fingers along the image.
I'll enjoy this.
I stuff the magazine into my backpack.
I stand up from the bed and exit back out into the corridor.
I might sleep here. I think to myself before approaching another room.
I stop when I see a stain coming from the bottom of the door. Its brown. Maybe red. Crusty.
I smell iron.
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I open the door and immediately fall back into a wall.
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"WHAT!? What the fuck!?" I exclaim as my back slides down the wall and I fall into a sitting position.
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The room contains a single bed with no sheets. There's womens clothing everywhere. Clothes were strewn about the entire room. Too many clothes. Some of them are child-sized. And the blood. Too much blood. There's so much blood. On the floor. The walls. But it's mostly on the bed. What was once likely a white mattress is now a crimson, crusty mess.
I stand up and peer further into the room. A single child's shoe lies sideways on the bloody wooden floor.
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What happened here?
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I hear a noise coming from outside. Something mechanical. The roar of an engine.
I clamber to my feet and rush back into the previous bedroom. I peer out the window beyond the curtains.
I see a blue truck parked out in front of the house. Three people are inside the truck. All of them are men. The doors open.
"No, the point is you have to marry one, fuck one, and kill one," one of them says as he opens the door.
"Ok? I'll kill Margret Thatcher, I'll fuck princess Diana, and I'll marry the queen."
"You're going to marry a 60-year-old?"
"Shut up. She was rich. I'd still have Princess D to go to."
"Will you two just shut up?" The third one says: "You lot are giving me a headache."
They walk towards the front of the house. This is their house. I panic and look for a place to hide. I see a wardrobe and slowly creep towards it. I climb inside and close the door as I hear the front door of the house open.
I stand in the wardrobe for a few minutes as I hear shifting and talking on the floor beneath me.
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"Oi!? Which of you drank my Irn Bru!?"
"What?"
"My Irn Bru! You drank my Bru, didn't you, ya bastard!?"
"I didn't drink your Bru!"
"Bullshit! You wanted it last night!"
"I didn't have your bru!"
"Let me smell your breath!"
"What!?"
"Let me smell your fucking breath, you Bru, stealing bastard!"
"Will you two shut the fuck up already!?" The third one interrupts.
"Nah, fuck you guys," I hear from one of the men, as I then hear angry footsteps coming up the stairs.
"Dont drink! We're having beans. You never eat your dinner when you drink." The Irun Bru yeller shouts up to his friend from downstairs.
"Beans on toast?" The one who walks up the stairs asks back.
"Shut up..."
The man coming up the stairs laughs. 64Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzUYUOOGDVq
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I hold my breath when I hear the bedroom door fling open and slam against the wall.
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"As if I would steal his bru. Fucking prick. As if I would fuck-" He cuts himself off before throwing something onto his bed.
"Guy, you've known half your life, and you think I'm going to take your fizzy. Dickhead"
I make the mistake of trying to shift into a more comfortable position in the wardrobe. A coat falls off a rack and creates a small noise.
"The fuck?" I hear the man say this along with the shifting of the bed.
I hear him stand up.
I reach for the knife handle on my belt and grip it tightly.
I hear footsteps approach the wardrobe.
Walk away. Just walk away.
The wardrobe swings open, and the man's eyes shoot open when he sees me.
I whip out my knife and stab upwards into his jugular, hoping to make him silent.
I cringe when he lets out a loud gurgling noise and grabs my shoulders. Blood pours down his neck and chest, and he involuntarily covers my face with blood from his mouth.
I push into him, and he falls to the floor in the middle of the room. I keep hold of my knife, which retracts out of him with a horribly loud noise comparable to running a steak knife along bone. He hits the ground with a loud thump. He lays there clutching his face as he drowns and bleeds out.
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"Daniel?" I hear the Irn Bru rager from before calling out from downstairs, followed by footsteps coming upstairs.
"Daniel, what was that? Say something"
I look around for an escape, but before I can set my eyes on anything, the bedroom door swings open.
"Danie- OH SHIT!" The man yells before I charge into him. I push him out of the room and into the hallway, slamming him into the wall. I reach my arm back with my knife pointing down and plunge it towards his neck, but he blocks my wrist with his forearm.
We grunt as our strengths clash. I slam down on my wrist with my other hand, which surprises him and causes the blade to lurch forward and imbed into his shoulder.
"AAAHHHH FUCK!!!" The man screams in agony. "AAAH-MRMPH! HMPFF!" I press my hand over his mouth in a desperate attempt to silence him. There's still one more of them after all.
He looks deeply into my eyes before opening his mouth and sinking his teeth into my pinkie finger. 64Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSNI5gFzGQn
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"AHHH!" I screamed and let go of the knife. I punch him in the head repeatedly, desperate to get him to release my finger. Blood runs down my hand, and I feel the joint dislocate.
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While punching him, he doubles down by opening his mouth and biting down further on my finger. Grinding it between his molars.
I tilt my head up and scream once more as he jerks his head and bites my pinkie off just above the second digit.
I gasp out of shock as I stare at the spurting nub where my pinkie used to be.
He takes advantage of this distraction and punches me in the jaw. Causing me to stagger back.
He steps forward and delivers a kick to my chest. The air is knocked out of me as my back hits the wall and my body begins to slide down it.
"Stand back up, mother fucker!" He grabs my shoulders and pulls me back up to a standing position.
In my dazed state, I begin to weakly slap and push at his face. He easily pushes my attacks away and wraps his hands around my neck.
He squeezes hard while slamming the back of my head against the wall repeatedly. I feel the wall behind my head begin to crack and break apart.
I stare at the knife sticking out of his shoulder and grab onto the handle. I pull it out and jam it into his side. Causing him to grunt and release me from his hold.
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The third man comes running up the stairs at this point, and I turn to look him in the eyes.
He shoots me a murderous gaze before running towards us. I grab hold of the man I was just fighting with and throw him towards the third man. Their bodies collide, and they both fall to the floor.
I run back inside the room and see a window. I run towards it and slam my elbow into the glass. Shattering it.
I immediately start climbing through. Not caring about the jagged shards of glass or the fact that it's a second-story window. I just have to get away.
When I get half way through the window, I feel a hand grab the back of my shirt. And another grab at the back of my belt.
Without warning, I'm pulled back inside the room. Cutting my cheek open on some glass in the process.
I fall to the floor, quickly roll into a sitting position, and look up at the person who pulled me back inside. The third man. He kicks me across the face, which causes me to roll to my front. He drops down on my back and wraps his arm around my neck.
He rolls onto his back, still holding me, and begins to choke me as I can do nothing but flail my arms and stare up at the ceiling.
"It's not painful," the man whispers in my ear. "You just go to sleep. All this will feel like a bad dream."
His hot breath in my ear enrages me, and I roll back and forth until we're on our sides. I look under the bed and see a book, and I grab it just as he rolls me back. But this time, I slide my legs across him until we're next to each other. I grab his knee and push it away from his other leg. Revealing his crotch to me.
I slam the book into his groin as hard as I can.
"The man lets out a low-pitched moan as he lets me go. I roll away, get up, and look at him. He holds his crotch while rolling back and forth across the floor. Before he quickly looks me in the eye, frowning. I throw the book at him, and it bounces off his face.
"Fuck!" He yells as he covers his face with one hand and his bashed dick with the other.
I run out of the room and pass the dead man with the knife in his side. When I pass him, however, he springs to life and grabs my ankle.
"WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING!?!"
I trip and fall on my back. He doesn't let go, and his grip only tightens.
"I'LL KILL YOU! I'll FUCKING KILL YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH. COME HERE COME HE-"
I kick him in the face hard. He whimpers and releases me. Cowering from the pain.
As I get up, I see the man from before run out of the bedroom and straight towards me.
I turn around and run for the stairs. Just as I reach the top step, he collides into me, and we both fall down the stairs. Rolling all the way down before we finally make it to the bottom.
I begin to crawl towards where the back door is. I try to get back to my feet as I do so. But the man jumps on my back again. Pinning me there. He grabs my right hand and pins it to the ground. And with his other hand, he pins my head down. Blinding me as I can see nothing but the floor. My left hand desperately feels around for anything that can help me. I touch something metal. Reaching beyond that, I feel something fine and powdery in my hand. Soot from the fireplace. I grab a handful and stuff it into the man's face.
"My eyes! Ahh!" He yelps before raising off of me slightly and releasing me. I elbow him in the side, and he grunts before falling off of me completely. I get to my knees and spin around to face him. He stares at me. I turn back to the fireplace and see a firepoker. I grab it and spin around. Just as he begins to get up, I jam it through his eye.
"Ah" is the last sound he makes before falling back dead. His one eye stared at me for a moment before going still. I drop the firepoker and begin to limp back towards the kitchen.
As I do this, I hear someone running behind me. I spin around, and the man who I stabbed before charges into me. Pushing me back into the kitchen and into a countertop.
"I'M NOT FUCKING DEAD YET!!!" He shouts as he once again starts choking me.
I push my thumb into the knife wound on his shoulder, which causes him to release my throat and grab my arm. I knee him in the stomach and push him. He falls back onto the kitchen floor.
He begins to get back up, but I kick him in the head. Downing him again. I then stomp his head again. And again.
"Stop!"
I ignore him and stomp on him again and again. He attempts to shield his head with his hands, but it does little to help him.
"Please..." He mutters weakly.
I press my hands on the countertop and keep stomping until I feel his skull break and my foot begin to mash against his brains.
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