Start writing h“I’m leaving”; was the only thing that she told him. Cold heartless words that still press against the corners of his thoughts as the seek to mix with furious disdain that guides such profound confusion.
For a moment or two, he gave in to his anger and frustration, found a room where he couldn’t be bothered and let his anger smash or break anything it could get its hands on. Rage was one of the first emotions that he had ever felt in full since waking up, and giving into it felt so natural that to resist its calling put his stomach in knots and his thoughts in a scramble. But rage wasn’t his friend as he soon learned, looking at the shattered plates and scattered silverware of the community kitchen, a young friend and companion huddled in the corner in tears as they witnessed such a violent outburst of raw and unfiltered emotion put his realization in perspective.
Rage was a dangerous thing; he learned. The more it is fed the hungry-er it gets and the harder it is to see past it, feel through its numbness, realize the blood seeping out of the cuts in his knuckles from the harm he did to himself and others.
Rage: was not his friend, it was a vice, a drug, an addiction. Something he would need to overcome if he hoped to get back what he had lost; the love and respect of someone he cared about deeply.
None of them knew what had happened to the world, what had happened to the building and skyscrapers that now lay so degraded In the distance. Most of them toppled, destroyed and separated by a broken bridge and the canyon around an isolated building, a prison no one understood.
As they came to speak with one another, they all found that something; a part of them, was missing. But no one could remember what it was, or why it was gone, just that it was important, and needed to be found.
With no one to guide them the mystery of the world they where it became a dangerous puzzle that had no real resolve, one that would haunt their dreams in early days of awareness as harsh realizations and ever-looming mortality put their struggle in harsh perspective.
Many of them died before they could be dug out of the rubble and debris. But images of others starving and to death in locked rooms of padded walls still stand as harsh reminders as to how fortunate the few of them were to be alive and breathing.
The drive to leave their home was something that was organized early as the survivors gathered what limited resources they could, and saw their chances of becoming slimmer as lack of food and water nearly broke them down. Fights and arguments became common, as the stronger personalities in their group of survivors clashed in an angry sea of opinions and facts, everyone just trying to keep an already sinking vessel from plunging into destruction.
Everyone was afraid of the choices they had to make, knowing that every wrong one would lead them further into calamity, but the only thing that was certain was the inevitability of starvation as their means and supplies could not last forever. More, died of sickness when winter came and tensions spread thin as the struggle broke the bonds they had formed in common understanding.
The look in her eyes was of an untold sadness, something she had been keeping deep inside herself longer than he had realized. She didn’t want to be their anymore, not after her friend had passed from illness, but he knew this wasn’t her only reasoning as being cut off from the world gave her time to talk and speak with others in secret.
She went with him, A boy who seemed drenched in shades of secrets and untold discoveries that he kept to himself, her and no one else. He was the first to introduce himself with something no one else knew for sure: His name.
She Jumped into his car with no explanations, and all she said was “I’m leaving”, risking riding in the heavy white Stingray that sought to challenge the sturdy nature of the white painted bridge leading over a deep crevice. An act is seen as nothing less than Crazy, until the two found themselves on the other side, driving away from bad memory’s.
The absence of a complete bridge was what kept on the isolated plateau and after they knew to leave as possible, set out on their own search for answers and never returned.
Only a few remained after a few months, dwindling in the wretched building. With people leaving it wasn’t long after he: the one left behind; found the logic behind his abandonment in a note kept in a room of secrets. It took him some time to get over his rage, but with a better direction and more clues, it wasn’t long before he grabbed the ax with his name on it, and took it to every locked door still left in the building. Doing what should have been done from the beginning. It wasn’t too long after angrily hacking my way through a few wooden doors that he soon discovered why the shade of the ax was made the way it was, and that something, some type of power was manifested in him. A power that is seen only in color, and felt by that very relation.
With every swing of his black ax his power grew. Ever strike producing greater force, and a light that seemed to bend the very fabric of energy and reality. The head of the ax eventually burst into flames on the last door, flames echoed in the sounds of radio static, words lost in disaster and the gate that holds the distance between light and darkness.
Of all the dead buried that day only one had answers. One of an older man, wrinkled and grey, covered in a striped fitted and expensive suite, degraded in its rotting age. No blood or signs of a struggle as everything was neatly organized, but a look on his face that said agony as his body hung lifelessly from his neck held in the cradle of a rope attached to the lamp on the room ceiling. He had jumped from his desk.
It wasn’t long after that, after going through file after file of paperwork in the dead man’s cabinets, did the boy with the ax decide it was his turn to leave as well, and look for answers that now had questions.
A key in the pocket of the body of the older male would lead the young man into a car garage, and a paper file would point him to a vehicle meant to be taken only by him. A black demon of a vehicle with a blackbird outlined on the hood of the car. Other keys in the set of the ring would put the key to this beast in his hands, an item found in a cabinet, bolted in tough steel locks that came intact.
This leads him to the realization that the other boy, the kid in the white Stingray had a key to these rooms all along, and decided to let the other young people die in their rooms. A death that could have been avoided if not for the stingray’s selfishness.
The boy with the ax was given more choices with this realization, but one was certainly in its preside, in that the Stingray was not someone to be trusted. And that the girl who left him, was is more dangerous than she knew.
He did all the research he could, looking through the files, trying to find out any clues, or gaining any information he could in order to prepare himself for the journey ahead of him. A map was discovered, and on it was a place in I a town near a road that seems it might only hold more mysteries if it still exists.
The ruined city holds promise but the future may be riddled in lies as if one could deceive his friends, then so too could others. The truth would be something that this young explorer might need to pry from the hands and minds of others, and if it came down to it; would be something he must be prepared for.
He only had time to grab a few supplies to take with him before he went. Only had a short amount of time to build up the courage he needed in order to get himself and his car across a flimsy bridge. With little room to practice and even less knowledge of how to do so. It would take nothing short of raw courage to push the pedal to steal and test the limits of both himself and the machine that would serve as his only shelter and companion for a time.
The sunset in the distance as he lined up for wheels with the composite bridge. The only thing standing between him and the open freedom of an unknown world. The heart beating in his chest almost drowning out the sound of the engine, the nerves in his gut begging him to reconsider an attempt of jumping a wild horse over a three-hundred-foot fall.
Very loose nerve in his body shook with the implication that this might be its last moment of sense, but the voice inside him, the part of him that churned with unmet resolves boiled his steel nerves to the very moment of pressure they could no longer endure, and like a volcanic eruption of will, his foot was hammered into a hard press of the gas pedal propelling him forward at a speed he barely knew how to handle.
The sudden start bends his trajectory with the resistance of his tires against an unstable and cracked road. Causing him to try an realign himself with a straightforward path. A few turns of the staring wheel cause him to over correct as the RPM’s of his wheels crank up faster with every moment that his foot is held to the gas.
He has practiced this jump a few times in his mind but had no idea how powerful the car in his hands actually was before this one chance of cranking up the engine’s power to full speed. One thing saves him from swerving out of control, and that the limit of his first gear setting hitting red and grogging the engine down.
The young man straightens out his car but realizes that his speed may not be enough to cross the bridge, so he attempts an upward shift in order to put his car into second gear. This action goes badly, slowing him down and grinding gears until he finally figures out how the clutch operates, just in time to put more power into the engine before hitting the bridge of stripped sheet metal, and wooden planks.
As soon as his tires touch this flimsy build, however, it begins to crumble apart, reducing to its individual pieces as they fall into the darkness below. The Blackbird, however, is now airborne, the bridge braking in such a way as to ramp him up a piece of plywood that was used in its construction.
The young man closes his eyes as glides through the air. And for a moment he feels the energy in his mind activate and applies to the car he is driving. Boosting the energy in which it uses to move forwards.
He opens his eyes just in time to see himself land on solid ground, but only just barely as parts of the bridge fall away at the edge where his tires grind against loose concrete on the bridge.
Once clear, he slams on the brakes in order to keep himself from going out of control.
A cloud of burn rubber surrounds the car and engulfs it’s the ominous black image as the sun glints tears of triumph from its polished edges. The young man gets out of his car and looks back at the trial he just overcame. Then to the city that sits in much the same ruin as the bridge, he just crossed. He doesn’t spend much time thinking but knows what his next action needs to be in order to ensure his survival, a process necessary now more than ever if he hopes to cross similar bridges in the future.
Stepping inside, he closes his door, revealing up the engine of his greatest tool, and drives into the sunset for the first time.