Looking for the matching furniture and deco? Check my co-devs CelesteCyrannus and IamSalvation and fill your city scape with rusty, dirty and broken reminders of better days, for example:
Sometimes the sunrise looks like back then. Warm and golden. But only if you’re not really awake at all. For real, the sunrise isn’t golden; it’s the bitter yellow of sulphur and cold like metal on a winter day. Down in the damp streets one can’t even see it at all. The toxic rain returns as stinky fog and swallows all the light.
No-one’s living down there anymore. No human, I mean. The inhabitants of the city were looking for shelter in the skyscrapers and some even found it. Sheila and I live (live?) on the 46. floor of a former office building in the city centre. Our “apartment” was a call centre or so. Desks are all over the room, waiting for the once mighty telephones to ring. But they will never ring again. There’s no-one to call anymore. We took the padding from the desk chairs and tried to build some kind of bed under a window. It isn’t too comfortable, but still better than sleeping on the concrete floor. When we moved in this building three years ago, we searched it for things of use. We didn’t find much. Coffee machine, water boiler, fridge. Pointless without electricity. Envelopes, fax paper, phone books. Meaningless without communication. The less people you meet, the safer you are. Sheila and I only leave our hideaway if we have to. Usually soon after sunrise because most inhabitants of the city are still sleeping then. Humans don’t break with old habits. We sneaked to the lower floors of the building, but we didn’t find anything useful there. Every couple of weeks we have to go out to find food. It’s getting more dangerous each time we go; we have to leave the block and go further into the city. The supermarkets are empty, the scavengers took everything they could years ago. So we have to search abandoned houses. Again and again we have to take the risk to meet other inhabitants. And again and again, we are also afraid to meet the mutants.
The mutants. They were human before the days of the epidemic came. No-one was safe and in the beginning, no-one knew the consequences. Now everyone knows. We melt. Our bodies get watery, sticky. After the infection, there are small bubbles all over the skin. They don’t hurt or so. But once they open and the liquid runs over the body, you are already lost. The liquid makes the body melt with any organic material we touch. Sometimes we see them through the windows of the lower floors. Those who were careless or stupid enough to surrender to the epidemic. Mothers who held their children at night and melted with them. Couples, embracing and now inseparable united; together forever. Men who fought and became one with their enemy. Sometimes we even see humans who melted with plants. But not touching others doesn’t help to escape the epidemic. Those who take care will be eaten by it. They melt. We’ve seen it, some months ago, when we were looking for food. We were on the 23. floor of a building. From the kitchen window, we could see the empty apartment of the next house. There was a man leaning on the window and we saw how he tried to make signs. He looked like melting wax. We hurried to get some cans together and wanted to leave, but we were too curious and went back to the window again. What had the stranger tried to tell us? When we looked over, we saw there was no stranger anymore. Where he had been standing, there was now a dirty yellowish puddle and a sticky thick liquid ran from the window board.
No-one knows when the epidemic began. I guess it’s been three or four years ago. The mutants still grow in numbers though meanwhile everyone should know what the consequences are. Sheila and I are careful. We sleep in separate beds; our caresses are words, the way we look at each other; the memories of better yesterdays. Every day, we melt a little more. The skin is dripping from our limbs like hot candle wax. The muddy flesh underneath almost doesn’t feel the missing skin anymore. It’s just a little burning feeling and it goes over quickly. There are some parts where we can see our bones; soft like rubber. Sheila can’t move anymore since some days. Her legs just give in when she tries to get up. Her arms can’t carry her weight when she tries to lean on them. And I also feel I won’t be able to get new food anymore soon. What we have left will be enough for only two or three days. Not more. Of course we wondered why we are fighting this hopeless battle to survive. There is no hope for a cure. The doctors and scientists are unable to help or dead. Most both. Those who are still alive are mostly mutants, molten with their patients. We see them roam the foggy streets at night, in ripped white clothes, grown to their desperate patients. Some have their hands on the heads, others the entire arm.
Sheila and I have made a choice this morning. A last desperate chance to last. Tonight, we will not sleep in separate beds. We will sleep together, arm in arm, like lovers should. And our hope shall rise like a star; the star of these last days of mankind. And when we awake tomorrow, there will be no “we” anymore. We will be one, a single being. We will unite, like lovers always dream to. We’ll be the sum of our love and hope, our own child. And maybe – just maybe – this creature we will be has a chance to survive in this world. Maybe our star of hope will rise and shine bright, telling the world about the birth of a new race. But maybe this star will burn out to ashes and with it all hope to survive.
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