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Nothing But Wastes - Frigid VictimizationMarsha hadn't always been the battle-hardened (or rather, so she thought) adventurer of the Northern-Russian wasteland. She'd been a victim, ravaged and abused by what at the time was left of a decent society.
Shortly after the war, small groups of people tried their best to reclaim some sense of structure and a civilized life-style after the absolute devestation wrought upon the country. Many tried, but most failed. They failed, in part, because they stuck to their common beliefs and true morals. Surviving, it seemed, was a game of sick self-interest. You couldn't live trying to protect everyone, and you certainly couldn't without a weak heart.
Savage individual tribes soon developed, assimilating locals and stragglers into their ranks, or just enslaved them. They killed for fun. They tortured and raped the innocent out of boredom and dispicable lust. And yet, they held the power, so no one could stand up and face them. They outnumbered every last good soul, it seemed.
Marsha was one
Nothing But Wastes - Turkey ShootThe next morning, surprisingly, not much fresh snow had accumulated at the bottom of our make-shift shelter. We only had to brush off a small layer of ice and fluffy powder from our packs and clothing when we crawled out the next morning. The sun was just peeking up over the horizon, casting eerie shadows on the blank landscape. It was cool, but not as bad as the night we'd just endured.
"So, how far away are we from the site now?" Marsha yawned, stretching her arms up towards the bleak, grey skies. "I just want to find a nice place to sit."
I pointed over to a small strip of dismembered vehicles on what used to be a road.
"That's the interstate there. It's only about three or four miles up." Scooping up a chunk of snow, I placed it on my tongue and let it melt. At least we always had water in this frozen hell.
We trudged down the barren highway for quite some time without interruption. Marsha stopped at certain points to try and nab a small bird or rabbit with her crossbow; although,
Nothing But Wastes - The Conflicting Truth'Don't get to down on yourself, now...'
Since when do you care? Hm?
'I'm a part of you. I have to care.'
You have an odd way of showing compassion then...
'Maybe', the shrill voice cooed. 'But, you're still alive, aren't you?'
'And you're not alone, correct?'
No, no I'm not.
'Is there any more to compassion than life and companionship?'
You wouldn't enslave me.
The voice chuckled softly.
'It's a labor of love.'
This is not love.
'You're right,' it spat. 'Love is whatever you wanted from your companion. Something you could touch. Something you could feel. Something that was warm against your skin. I'm not any of that.'
'Child, I'm giving you something greater than 'love',' it whispered, almost like a mothers voice, calm and soothing. 'I'm giving you power. A power that you've chosen to neglect. It's a force that no soul could reckon with.'
You sure ab
Stuck The car sputtered and shook as it came to an almost silent stop. The engine had gone silent as the horn beeped loudly through the dark night. The orange gas light blinked mockingly at the woman behind the wheel. It was making fun of her; she knew it was making fun of her. Grabbing the black cellular phone on the passenger seat, she looked at it with full intention of calling somebody to come help her.
“Oh, what the hell?!”
The “no service” sign was mocking her at the same exact time. The horn beeped loudly as she slammed her head against it once again. The day was out to get her in general. She had arrived at all her classes late, and her son was sick with the flu. The babysitter was able to watch him as she went to her late night classes. Giving a heavy sigh, she lifted her head off the wheel to look out the window. Drops of water pooled on the windshield as rain started to fall in a pitter-patter pattern. She didn’t quite understand the message th
AerosolIt has been a day and a half since the crash, and I have found a cabin. In some ways, this is a relief. I don’t know if I could face another night on the mountain without shelter. Outside, a fire does no good: the heat simply travels upwards. However, this place also raises some difficult questions. I estimate that I’ve put eight miles between myself and the crash site. I don’t know if this will be enough. It Saving...
occurs to me that I don’t really know anything.
The survival manual recommends staying with the plane. It explains that this affords the best chance of rescue. It explains that the wreckage offers warmth and shade. It explains that seventy percent of pilots who stay are located within three days, while seventy percent of those who leave are
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