herpderp

Life.  Life never changes.

How long has it been since we've touched ground on this blasted isle?  This bastion of land, after the oceans swirled up around us, engulfing our families, our friends, our future.

I was just partaking in my usual life.  Blissful youth, with its immortality and its eventual ephemerality .  Wasted away chatting to strangers on the internet, to browsing sources of instant gratification.

None of that left now.  The city I was in, New York, the capital of the world, now a ruined husk, the oceans having faded away, washing away its inhabitants and its history.

Except me, and a few others, alongside the shadow of the myriad of abandoned buildings, with doors and windows ripped out, leaving but ghastly holes, as if the buildings themselves were asking and howling for their former majesty.

But enough of that.  We are what's left.  We must first survive.  Those left are as incompetent and out of their element as me, or worse: some are but young pups, without a shred of knowledge or wisdom: I'm pretty sure they've never even talked to a girl before.

Others seem more hardened, cynical, their lives established and brought down, and seeking a way to reclaim it.

Then of course there are the girls.  One, poor creature, constantly asks for food-it seems that she hasn't been able to sate her hunger.  The other seemed content to thrash about, breaking what little remained intact in the city.  A waste of good material, sure, but must we not tear it all down to rebuild it anew?

Of course, we all immediately gathered what we could find, our faces pale with shock, still in denial of this calamity that has befallen us.  A few people still clung to the hope that their loved ones, real or fictional, still exist.  They better accept reality quick, or they will perish.

One thing's for sure though.  Manhattan has shifted.  For what would be day is night, and night is day.  Have we drifted into the Southern Hemisphere, land of disease, br, and convicts?  If so, we must be even more vigilant, less these threats strip from us what little we have.

A little girl crawls towards the fire.  She has but forgotten her name, and her face has been permanently bruised on one side, yet she remains undeterred.  We've named her Violet for it.  She will be here when the rest of us have passed, so it is fitting that we build a future for her and those who would follow.  And for those in our group that hunger to reap the fruit before it is right, well, divine vengeance shall fall upon them.

And so we continue our quest for survival.  I write so that others may see how we fell, and how we may once again rise into building humanity's future.  Dulce et decorum est pro futurum mori.  We shall succeed, or die trying.