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Sleepwalkers (BLITEOTW)
Jun. 13th, 2007 04:09 pmMyra sits on the ledge of the rooftop, downs three blues with the last of the bottle in a single swallow and quickly realizes that despite her improvised cocktail, it'll still be a while before she can pass out tonight. With nothing better to do but wait, she watches the last light of day sink behind the cradle of the Atlanta skyline. The buildings and skyscrapers fade into a solid wall of shadow without any power to light them. She focuses on the faint silhouette of the half of a helicopter embeded in the Bank of America Plaza. Everyday she bets herself that today will be the day when gravity and decay will release it from it's nest in the side of the building. Then she notices that the fire in Grady Hospital has finally died down from the rain earlier this afternoon. The wind shifts and the smoke wafting from the building hits her. She welcomes the acrid sting of it in her eyes. It kills the Stink coming from below. She's managed to get used to everything else since the Great Outbreak but the perpetual reek of sweat, shit and meat rotting under a long summer sun still got to her. It wasn't just the smell but the way it seemed to bring with it it's own heat, a sick humidity that coated each breath she took. The worst part was the way the stink followed her, the way it lingered in the nostrils, seeped into the palette of the tongue so nothing tasted right, clung to the body and wouldn't let go. Even back in the last days of running water it wouldn't wash off... despite scrubbing until the skin bled beneath her fingers.
It burnt in the center of the skull until the liqour killed the pain.
The liqour she was now out of!
She mutters a curse (the first word she's heard outside the walls of her thoughts in over a week) and flings the empty bottle at the black veil of skyrise. The bottle spins in an escalating parabola towards the cloudless sky, reaches the top of its arc and plummets downward into a muffled crash somewhere in the endless sea of dead faces that stare back up at her. ( Read more... )
It burnt in the center of the skull until the liqour killed the pain.
The liqour she was now out of!
She mutters a curse (the first word she's heard outside the walls of her thoughts in over a week) and flings the empty bottle at the black veil of skyrise. The bottle spins in an escalating parabola towards the cloudless sky, reaches the top of its arc and plummets downward into a muffled crash somewhere in the endless sea of dead faces that stare back up at her. ( Read more... )
