Post by account_disabled on Dec 26, 2023 6:13:22 GMT
I haven't slept much in the last few days. The metamorphosis I feel inside me goes beyond any rational explanation. The wound on his arm is struggling to heal, perhaps due to the increasingly intense cold. I can't light a fire, not as long as I'm in this shelter, with the Desperate people who have been raiding every house for four days now. Since they found the Yellows I killed in that bar. They took care of burning them. They set fire to the entire place and the flames, despite the snow that continued to fall, did not go out until after many hours. I would have liked to be nearby, to keep warm. I could hear the crackling of the fire and the screams of jubilation and anger of the Desperate.
They knew someone was hiding in the town. They shouted and shot, threatening to massacre and torture anyone who did not come out of their own free will. But it was a bluff, they would have killed anyone. Food is Special Data scarce, resources seem to be fewer and fewer. They would never have welcomed other people into their ranks. Yet someone came forward, four days ago. The sun had already set and darkness had fallen, barely dispelled by the last flames that devoured the place. I observed the movements of the Desperate from behind a farmhouse. There were seven of them that day and all well armed. Timidly, along the road that descends from the western outskirts of the town, I saw two people arrive. Maybe a man and a boy, I couldn't say, were too far away and I couldn't expose myself to get a better look.
They had their belongings in backpacks and bags and were advancing slowly, afraid of the shouts and gunshots. One of the gang greeted them cordially, praising their courage, with the clear intention of reassuring them. And he succeeded, because I saw that the two quickened their pace and walked with more ease. When they arrived at the gang's premises, they stopped, unsure of what to do. The man who had greeted them, a huge guy with long, dirty hair and an unkempt beard, offered them some beer, which the two accepted. They were father and son, I heard the taller one say. I could see them more clearly now. He was in his fifties, the boy could have been fifteen. The gang leader put his hand on the man's shoulder and asked him his name. Then he looked up at his companions.
They knew someone was hiding in the town. They shouted and shot, threatening to massacre and torture anyone who did not come out of their own free will. But it was a bluff, they would have killed anyone. Food is Special Data scarce, resources seem to be fewer and fewer. They would never have welcomed other people into their ranks. Yet someone came forward, four days ago. The sun had already set and darkness had fallen, barely dispelled by the last flames that devoured the place. I observed the movements of the Desperate from behind a farmhouse. There were seven of them that day and all well armed. Timidly, along the road that descends from the western outskirts of the town, I saw two people arrive. Maybe a man and a boy, I couldn't say, were too far away and I couldn't expose myself to get a better look.
They had their belongings in backpacks and bags and were advancing slowly, afraid of the shouts and gunshots. One of the gang greeted them cordially, praising their courage, with the clear intention of reassuring them. And he succeeded, because I saw that the two quickened their pace and walked with more ease. When they arrived at the gang's premises, they stopped, unsure of what to do. The man who had greeted them, a huge guy with long, dirty hair and an unkempt beard, offered them some beer, which the two accepted. They were father and son, I heard the taller one say. I could see them more clearly now. He was in his fifties, the boy could have been fifteen. The gang leader put his hand on the man's shoulder and asked him his name. Then he looked up at his companions.