A Great Time for Unsolicited Advice
In the side alley of a hill-side street, between an abandoned bar and a pile of rubble that once sheltered the maturing youth before the last great war, lies the only remnant of the past. Typed out on a piece of paper covered by clear tape are words most of us can’t read, but we ponder the message that was sent to us from a time before. Don’t get me wrong; it’s not that those living in this post-apocalyptic world can’t read, I am telling you this story aren’t I? That piece of paper, that last testament of a civilization long-gone is now the most coveted artifact of our age. Countless have devised, and twice as many lost their lives attempting to read the words of our long lost fore-fathers. Some want it to create a new democracy, and others to revive an extinct object called a joint. Of the few that ran back from such attempts have told that there are at least thirty guards protecting the sheet of paper. Others have said every human that ventured towards it have never returned, but I know that in this world shaded under the sun’s red hue that blends with the outside walls of that desolate bar it was only a matter of time before someone finally made it.
I decided to go like my father before me, whose last words were that of honest truth, “It’s not what you think.” Those words never left my head, but I just let it simmer in the back for the past five years. Yet, as I finally set out to go on an otherwise futile journey, those words kept blinking in the fore-front of my temple. With just a blade and sharpened rocks as my paltry arsenal, I walked the perilous journey eleven miles north of a half-submerged island. As I got closer my skin was pushing me south, but I willed myself past the plateaued city, and crossed the bridged hanging by a metal thread.
I knew I was getting close cause I silenced my first five victims. Empathy left my soul once I figured my father was never coming back, and assumed it was one of these guards who ended his simple endeavor. As I kept defeating those in-front of me I felt this urge of ridiculousness build inside me. Why would anyone kill to protect a lousy piece of paper, why would anyone want to serve such a cause of hatred fueled by killings? The sixty-two steps were a bit much in my mind, but with how ruined the stairs were, I couldn’t say for sure if it was already built before my time or someone created these after the great war.
Still; once I saw the faux battle field cramped into a standard width New York City street riddled with lifeless bodies, I knew I made it. At this point I lost count of how many I’ve killed, I was now fueled by vengeance and an itch to figure-out just what was worth all this to so many. The sky now a shade of dark blue that warned of a cold autumn night, I walked down the empty alley. Finally, fucking finally I see this piece of paper in-front of me. As I gaze at the divine-like text, my eyes widen, my jaw drops. On the piece of paper was just one line. No Loitering.
