Why this Blog?

I hope that this blog will become a place to look after my writing ideas and that, over time, I can use it to archive all my favourite creative sites on the web. Maybe others will enjoy it too.

Sunday, 1 April 2012

Post-Apocalyptica

This is my own term for post-apocalyptic porn, that is a story that fetishises the situation following an apocalypse, not porn set after an apocalypse.  I'm not sure how the latter would be any different from normal porn, if I'm honest.

AFTERMATH

Cold. The wind whistled through the chain-link fence and smelt sweet through the gas mask. Unbidden, he checked the geiger counter hanging round his neck out of habit before grupping his rifle tighter. Smoke still rose in the distance, through the dust and the smog, and there was the muffled sound of flames crackling in the distance. Guard duty: the worst duty, but it was necessary; Daniels had already had to fire in anger and now the brass were worried that there would be more. Didn't see them pulling guard duty.

Boner said the motorways were the worst: cars frozen at the point of impact surrounded by melted tarmac with their occupants trapped inside. There was talk of missions to the countryside and into the cityh to gain the supplies of those that hadn't kept themselves shielded. Radiation was quick on foodstuffs and on the ready meals and tinned goods it was fast enough to leave the food virtually unaffected. Rations were good for the moment, the advantage of guarding the warehouses, and so this did not bother him much. Volunteers had been requested by Regional Command but so far no one had been willing to brave the maelstrom that had engulfed the centre to rescue some jumped up civvies with a radio. Fuel was short, vehicles at a premium, but they had been trained well enough to conserve ammunition. Sixteen rounds so far used had all been subject to the brass crawling up peoples' arses to make sure it was justified.

And the worst of them was Redbar. He and his unit had been caught topside at zero hour and he'd managed to get them all to safety, and he was bloody insufferable. He'd counselled waiting before going looking for extra food, until the poor sods had been killed by looters or at least until the majority of them had started to leave the shelters. Most, he said, would have fuck all but there would be some sad fuckers who had stored correctly and they would be fodder for the looters. Survival of the fittest. He wasn't certain what to make of Redbar, either he was a genius or the most evil fucker he'd ever known and there was simply no middle ground.