| What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow | |
| Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, | |
| You cannot say, or guess, for you know only | |
| A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, | |
| And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, | |
| And the dry stone no sound of water. Only | |
| There is shadow under this red rock, | |
| (Come in under the shadow of this red rock), | |
| And I will show you something different from either | |
| Your shadow at morning striding behind you | |
| Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; | |
| I will show you fear in a handful of dust. |
Why did T.S. Eliot write down things like that? And the title; is it no coincidence?
The Waste Land. God-awful freaking freaky.
Dust is all 'round me. I can taste it in my mouth, across my skin, in my eyes. It obscures my vision, and I start coughing. This might be the reason, I think as I slide ever downward upon the broken roads, why nobody ever wanted to venture to the building I saw before.
And now I come to the lowest part, where the dust is the thickest... and most dangerous. I need to make it to a higher ground right now, but before that, I need to grab that soda can behind the remains of a car.
Now we're talking. There is a long climb up but it's all worth it, because my lungs clear up immediately afterward. After passing two broken coaches, I spy an entrance which lies another block away. This also means I have to go back down. So it'll be touch and go, I hope. Just run like the wind.
***
Not only run, but climb I did, and like the wind I did, too!
I haul myself up, enter the building, climb up some more and slide down. But before the end, I grab the ledge and shimmy myself toward the other edge. Gotta time these moves correctly or you'll end up hurting badly... or just plain pissed. Nice warning on the opposite wall:
YOU LOOT
WE SHOOT
Some broken spots force me to slide carefully down, rolling sideways in the process in order to get to the next spot. Apparently the stairs have been broken during the Event, and some places need me to really use my environment. So there's very little to discuss here, just let me catch my breath, and see if the next level have more idiots or just empty floors.
Let's be positive for now, after that freaky poem. I hate T.S. Eliot like one might his own brother.
I hear people talking. Their friend isn't doing well. A is wondering if they should try and save him, while B says too late for that. This friend's arm is starting to stink awfully bad. Then I slowly appear from behind the crates and it turns out, the three are idiots, sitting around a fire, playing cards.
Two have guns, the other a machete. One, presumably the leader, comes forward. "Everything you see here belongs to us," he declares, a gun pointed at me, "and since you are here, you too belong to us."
"So much for foreplay." I shrug, my palms toward them. Yet my brain makes my arm move before the idiot, walking toward me with that smug look, could even think to react. Then the cut is done. He lies bleeding to death, the others stand stunned for a moment.
One other who has a gun, recovers quite fast and shoots me. I feel it gets through someplace vital, and I begin to see stars. But I still have control, and pointing my gun at the bastard, I put one between his eyes. He lies dead.
While I shot his friends, the last idiot was not idle. He actually cut me from behind, maybe in the shoulder blades. Luckily the bastard had a poor aim and did not go for my head. I turn, point the gun at him, and he stops cold. Drops the machete, pleads not to shoot him.
I agree. I don't shoot him.
I kick him into the fire they had built.
***
How long has it been the last time I saw a bird, or flocks of them?
As I left the area, I climb up and here is where I see something like a pigeon. Sitting behind a twisted piece of steel-reinforced concrete. I walk toward it, and it doesn't move. When I get close enough, I see why I didn't move. It is just a piece of the twisted steel.
I keep on walking, and found a memory card. This is important if I want to replay my experiences.
(Memory card is actually my way of saying a 'Retry'. A 'Retry' is important in this game because it works like 'lives' in arcade games. When you fail, you can either use your 'Retry' or replay the entire episode without using the 'Retry'. From now on, I call them Memory Card, just to make it seamless.)
Going over the tall stacks of pallets, I found myself in another area as four men emerge from the dusty fog. One of them has a gun. The rest have machetes. Dammit.
'Looks like we got company, boys!"
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