Friday, July 17, 2015

going under

Ezekiel didn’t quite know what to think of it all. It couldn’t be that simple, could it?

Languid lovers lay scattered and intertwined beneath the wild night sky. A multitude flesh, lit a lurid apple-green from the Underground, writhed in chemical-carnal pleasure.

It was nothing like the Leaders said it would be. Ezekiel found no hellfire and no raging beasts. There was no sulfur stench, just the normal smells of men from fair to foul. On average, he’d wager, it smelled better here than the Compound in Linear Valley.

Amongst the deep signal grasses, swaying without wind, Ezekiel hid. He heard the lovers’ many moans and trills and whistles. Antenna and too many limbs, strange bulges and plastic skin, vining growths and too many grins: those of the Underground did not fight the inconstant nature of the New Tradition.

They embraced it all.

Ezekiel’s wet eyes fell to the crisscross scarred lines surrounding his now naked form. Here and there, the organic chaos of radiation burns played foil against the surgical grid.

The boy decided.

He strolled unclothed towards the glowing bunker. He was going under.

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