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19 December 2007 @ 11:12 pm
word of the day;; december 19th  
Title: Intransigence
Pairing: N/A
Needed Information on Characters: Chapter one: Sasha, Ollie, Logan and Thom are four best friends living in a lawless New York City after the collapse of civilization as we know it. Set in Sasha's P.O.V.
Rating: PG-13 for cursing and other stuff.
Disclaimer: The plot, characters etc. belong to me.
Length: 2,181
"Word of the day" used: Discursively.


Gandhi believed that freedom can be achieved through "inner sovereignty" - then again Gandhi did intentionally starve himself for three weeks, so all things considered the man could be a few sandwiches short of a picnic, literally and figuratively. Freedom is a totally individual opinion, it's simply an idea and nothing more. We shall never be truly free, we are all constrained by the mindless logic of our now lawless society, a society which laws caused death, but now we see the destruction of civilization as we know it. A society brought to to it's knees by it's own attempt to control the inevitably uncontrollable. The society in which we live in now will never see true freedom, the declaration of human rights imploded on itself. We now live in a society enforced not by plutocracy, but by physical strength and tenacity.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," Thom muttered, giving Ollie's small, emaciated frame a slight nudge to wake him up. I watched the pair in silence as Ollie struck out in fatigue, almost knocking Thom down. Today would have been my birthday, but no one really cares about that. Nineteen years ago life was a lot different, nineteen years ago I highly doubt my parents would have ever have had the perception that I would be living on the streets one day. I wasn't born into a world of poverty, but I have fallen into one. I blame my generation, I whole heartily blame my generation. I would never tell them, but Thom, Ollie and Logan are the closest things I'll ever have to a family, although on some level I don't think I need to tell them, it's kind of a mutual feeling between the four of us.
"Sasha," Logan muttered, messy dirty blonde hair falling into his eyes as he pushed the door of apartment open. I say pushed because the door of 'our' apartment got knocked in a few days ago when we were attacked. It's not even our apartment, really, we're staying here for as long as we possibly can, goodness knows who it belonged to before us, but they have obviously been dead for a long time, or they may have escaped, not that it will do them any good. I doubt they got very far, people rarely do. it's every man, woman and child for themselves now-a-days, so in retrospect, the four of us are quite an exception, although I worry every day that it is only a matter of time before we turn on each other too. We each sleep with a gun, it would take absolutely nothing for one of us to shoot the other three dead during the night and escape with our money and anything else of any value. They are my friends, but sometimes the thought occurs to me that we are friends merely by default, because we cannot bear to be in this society alone, that we feel safer with the illusion that three other people have got our backs, even though when push comes to shove I'm almost certain we'd turn on one another. "Sasha," Logan repeated, and I finally snapped up to look at his face. He has a long cut from his chin to his forehead, where they caught him when our apartment got raided and they hurt him good. We thought he wasn't going to make it. "Happy birthday," he whispered with a smile, sitting down on the cold wooden floor beside me. Of course Logan wouldn't forget, we've been friends since Kindergarten, but that doesn't change the fact my birthday is meaningless to the overall situation we're in. Half the time I feel like shooting the three, and the other half I feel like putting the gun to my own head.
Over in the corner of the room Ollie gives a hard, chesty cough, and Logan and I exchange worried looks. We all know that Ollie's ill, even Ollie has acknowledged it a few times. We don't know how long he has left to go before the virus takes over his body and shuts it down completely. It's already eaten up the majority of his muscle, leaving him practically nothing but skin and bones, and almost unable to hold a gun properly. We never leave Ollie alone by himself, because they would find him, and they would most certainly kill him. It hurts to see him like this, and on occasion we argue about it, Logan, Thom and myself. We argue about just putting a bullet in Ollie's head and saving him from the pain and the suffering - like you'd use the term 'cruel to be kind' when you put a loyal pet down when they develop a chronic disease. Ollie will die, there is almost certainly no cure for what he has, and if there is, then we will never acquire it. But Ollie refuses to allow us to do it, not because he wants to continue to suffer like this - that would be insane - but because he couldn't bear to see any one of us have to go through the guilt of having to pull that fucking trigger on him.
"Christ," Thom said, grabbing one of the bags we have and looking through it. "Feels like yesterday you turned eighteen," he said, looking up at me, with half a genuine smile and half a glare. Sometimes it's just that hard to tell Thom's playful smile from his truly upset smile. He's just sore that he's not the only nineteen year old now, when he prided himself on being able to use that same excuse for the past five months. "We might have to leave today, it's getting too risky to stay here for any longer, especially after... well," he glanced at Logan, eyeing his cuts, "y'know, last week."
"We can't go yet," I protested. "There's no way on earth Ollie's going to be able to make it anywhere in these conditions." I spoke like Ollie was going to make a miraculous recovery, and by tomorrow he'd be totally fit as ever and ready to walk through the harsh snow of New York City.
"The people in the apartment downstairs got 'offed' yesterday, I think they left some food down there, Thom and I ought to check it out, see if there's anything worth pillaging," Logan cut in discursively, breaking the staring contest Thom and I had been having. We use the word 'offed' to describe someone who had been killed, it happened so often now that we'd developed simple slang for it.
It appeared Thom was thankful for the reason to leave for a while, and almost pounded the door down in his attempt to get away from the awkwardness of the situation. Ollie was a subject none of us liked to touch upon, and yet for the past few weeks we hadn't heard one proper sentence from the boy, nothing except short utterances and gasping coughs. Logan shot me a warning look as he left after Thom, and we both knew that we were now treading on thin ice. The three of us argued an awful lot about this, and Thom fancied himself as a bit of a leader, and yet was totally dismissive of Ollie's condition, like he wasn't even there. If there was any one out of the three of us who would be happy to put a bullet in Ollie, then it would be Thom himself. Yet if he done it, if he found the cantankerous overwhelming need to do it, and he put the bullet we'd been discussing into Ollie's head, I would have no second thoughts about murdering him on the spot.
"Ollie," I said, making my way across the wooden floor of the apartment to Ollie's corner of the room, where he was sitting with his back against the wall, watching us all in silence. "How you feeling?" I asked. That was a pretty redundant question, I expected neither an answer nor any indication from Ollie about how he was feeling. He just gave me a cold, glassy stare, and the thought crossed my mind that if Ollie did die, it would more than likely take the three of us a fairly long time to even notice it. I reached out and pressed the back of my hand against his cheek, which was startlingly cold. Pulling my own dirty, beaten jacket off my shoulders I draped it around him like a blanket before I heard a loud bang against the fire exit of the apartment.
"Shit, shit," I muttered. It had to be them - Thom was right, of course they'd be back if they knew we were here and that we'd evaded them once before. My heart was racing as I put my arm around Ollie and helped him to his feet, luckily he had enough strength to walk, or we'd have been totally screwed.
"To the bathroom, to the fucking bathroom," I muttered, scooping up our bags. If they got in and thought we'd all left, then maybe they'd leave without properly having checked out the apartment. I threw our bags into the shower and helped Ollie into it, pulling the shower curtain across like it would offer some sort of protection against them if they did happen to find us. After locking the door, I sat with my back against the wall of the shower, gun in my hand, shaking furiously as I heard the bangs against the fire exit, knowing that they would get in soon. It was my first experience being practically alone in one of these situations, as Ollie offered very little protection against them if they did get inside. I had to put my hand across my mouth to stop the sound of my rasping breaths as I heard the cracks in the wooden fire exit door. I could hear Ollie beside me, we shared the same ferocious worry, the same desperate anxiety. God, if they catch us I hope they make it quick, I hope they don't draw it out, I hope they don't find Thom and Logan too. I heard the door finally give way, and I shut my eyes tightly, it was one of those childish attributes I'd never managed to grow out of - if I couldn't see it, it wasn't happening.
"Check the whole fucking apartment, they might be hiding!" I heard the voice of one of them. I could hear the footsteps as they paced up and down, checking the rooms, upturning beds and mattresses and throwing open wardrobes. Eventually, one of them tried to open the bathroom door, and when they found it was locked, it was an instant give away.
"They're in here!" He called, and seconds later I heard them trying to batter the door down, and I positioned the gun. I'd shot it so many times before, but so far I'd never killed anyone, and I had no idea how many of them there could be. My breath caught in my throat, and for a second I thought I was going to die from that as opposed from a them shooting me. The bathroom door came down, and I sprung to my feet, standing in front of Ollie. They weren't teenagers, as I'd first assumed they would be, they were older, mid-thirties perhaps, and armed heavily with guns. There were five of them, guns ready to fire. I held my own gun at arm's length, and my shuddering gasps for breath gave away just how scared I was. There are no morals in this society in which we live in - just because we were eighteen and nineteen and they were in their late thirties didn't mean they were going to spare us. We had almost nothing of value for them to take, practically no money, and we got by mainly from stealing from people who'd been 'offed'.
My vision was beginning to blur, but I willed myself to stay alert, because I couldn't let them do this without even putting up a fight. For a simple, brief second there was a stalemate, but I collapsed to my knees after the first shot, feeling the pain in my shin and crying out. The front door burst open again, which I presumed would be Thom and Logan, I held my gun out still and shot at the nearest man, the one which had just shot me in the shin. I could see the bright red blood on the cold white tiles of the shower, and I shot out wildly again, and heard more shots from outside the bathroom, but the ambience of the room made every shot that I fired, every shell that fell to the ground echo. I couldn't help but wonder if the shot that had hit my shin had been bad aim, or very deliberate. Three of them were now down, and I could only hope none of their shots had hit Ollie as I fired again, aiming for the last two men, but I heard the unmistakable cry of pain from a familiar voice before eventually everything went black.
shazz1shazz1 on December 19th, 2007 11:34 pm (UTC)
i so totally loved that.
i honestly did.
please please please please write more.
your writing is so brill bb.