Forum Thread

Introduction

Heya! This is The Road to Home, a story based off of a roleplay that never came to be. Wanna know what it's about? Well just read below!

Rules

I shouldn't really need to put this here, but I will anyway.
Here are a few guidelines for this forum


I have one final question for you all

What would you do with only a few weeks to live?

Title: Prologue

What would one do if they knew they had only a limited time before the end? This could be a deadline for a project at work, a terminal illness, or anything else along those lines. See, while most may say they would fight until they couldn't anymore, or try their best to get what needed to be done, done, they don't really know what it's like to have no hope. They have never experienced an event in which they were helpless. Still, they may argue, that doesn't matter, they would always do what they could until they couldn't anymore. But yet again, this isn't usually true.

The funny thing about humans is not their tenacity when all seems lost; it's quite the opposite. For a species boasting it's strength and superiority, it only takes the slightest push to send them toppling down off their pedestal. In the face of danger, they run. In the midst of resistance, they fall. In the center of conflict, they break down. They are a powder keg about to explode; all it takes is for something to light the match.

It is hot this particular day. The blazing sun shines down over a bustling city, glaring off of the sidewalks and pillars of glass and stone. Traffic was backed up around the block, not unusual for a busy Monday morning. The start of a new work-week brought with it the lively energy of a now awake community, making the early-bird commute as to not be late, and inevitably clocking in 5 past. The time passes by as citizens drag on through their tedious jobs, the day growing older. Children visit a nearby beach, swim in their pools, play at the park. It's an unusually warm day for mid-September, the sun glaring down with an intense fire. There is a moment in which it seemed to have pulsed in. And as quickly as the heat wave disappeared, so too, did the sky.

Title: 1

September 16, 20XX. 7 days since the Sun went out

One week. The time that has passed is so miniscule, and yet it felt like a lifetime. Many have died, unable to adapt or go on. For everyone else, life was a living hell. The streets were now a battleground; the cities, caught in a civil war. The fight for supplies was brutal. Most store shelves had been picked clean, so they began pillaging homes and families. Nobody was safe. And of course, some had chosen to live in bunkers, thinking they could outlast all of this. But with the sun gone, oceans began to slowly creep in. Towns within 20 miles, flooded. The wind was gone. Most plants were beginning to die off. Water was scarce. The world was rotting, crumbling, under our feet.

I set down my journal and sigh. It was time to make my runs. Or at least, I thought it was. Now, if there was one thing I've learned, it's that without our guiding star during the day, or a visible moon during night, it was nigh impossible to tell the time. It seems most have resorted to unconventional means, such as carrying cooking timers or battery powered clocks around, though batteries have been hard to come by as of late.

I grab my gun put it in my holster, as well as a box of 9mm rounds in my pack. I never know when I will need it. I pack a few more things, then holler down at my brother, "I'm going out. Need anything?"

He looks up from his work briefly. Grabbing a piece of paper, he waves it at me. "Actually, yes," he replies. "I need a few things from the scrapyard, if you would." I accept the page. It was just a few tools and parts for something he was working on, though he wouldn't tell me. "Don't get shot," he calls as I begin to leave.

"I'm more likely to get stabbed," I retort.

"Or slashed."

"Or drowned."

"Or kidnapped." We both laugh weakly, knowing full well that any of those were possible, likely even. After a moment of silence he says, "Do be careful, alright?"

I nod, and head out the door.

---

That day was like any other. Me and my brother were at home, waiting for our parents. We had come to visit for our fathers birthday. Suddenly, it was dark. Half an hour later, our dad comes in, holding our other father in his arms, bleeding from his side. We were sent to go get the medical supplies from the basement. Running down, we heard a loud crack, followed by two bangs. Rushing back up, medkit in hand, we realize it was too late. Both were dead, and their killer, right in front of us.

---


The one busy city is now a wasteland. Windows broken, cars smashed. Where there were once screams of excitement were now only screams of despair. It seemed that once the light's went out, the whole world went into a panic.

I slowly make my way across the tattered roads, dodging broken glass and torn metal. I suddenly hear a voice, calling for help. I head towards it slowly, making sure no one else was around. I follow the call into a nearby department store, and as I walk towards the back, I notice a small figure. It's a young girl, curled up in the corner, crying.

"Hey honey," I bend down to her level. She looks up with tears in her eyes. "Where's your mommy?" Again, she's back down in her arms, crying.

"She's dead," the girl replies.

Unsure of what to say, I try and pull her into a hug, but she only backs away. "Do you have any other family?" I ask.

She nods. "My aunty lives in an apple." I give her a questioning look, asking for more information. "I don't know, I just remember mommy telling me aunty was moving to a big apple."

New York City, I think. That's roughly 40 hour's from Atlantic City. "My brother and I," I start, "we lost out parents too. What if we helped you get back to your family?" The girl's face lights up.

"Really?"

"It would take a few days, but if we hurry, we could be there in 5 days." I reach my hand out. "Come on."

Hopeful, yet still with much trepidation, she grabs my hand. We start to make out way out of the store until I feel a firm hand on my shoulder, and the cold barrel of a gun to my head.