Chapter 5. Wet Streets
1834 Words
“”
“”
“”
Announced the drones in an overly pleasant female voice.
Such a tone of voice should have only been used to offer a young child milk with their cookies, Not for death threats!
It was dark, as all the areas streetlights had blown out.
Luckily it was a full moon tonight.
The night was so clear you could see three of the larger luna cities upon the surface of the moon with the naked eye from here.
That combined with the reflections on the wet, soaked streets help give enough light for Noir Manners to see by.
It had not been raining.
Although there were some burst water pipes, that had not been the reason the streets were so soaked.
The reason that the streets were so soaked was that there has been a huge explosion in an area full of people and that people were over ninety per cent water!
Blood covered EVERYTHING in a fine stinking sheen of gore.
Yes, it stank!
Even fresh bodies stank.
Most people had guts full of faeces and undigested bits of food decades old.
Along with anything containing water, all this had spread evenly over everything as well!
Most explosives might not do this, but a sound-based one would!
On this hot tropical night, the human gore gently steamed off the concrete of Willis city.
This heavy mist layed out itself up to about 4 feet off the ground and stayed there in the still windless air.
The drones had all the latest surface tech onboard.
But all of them were badly damaged, even from within their housing, from the sonic storm.
That combined with the noise from alarms, the humid constant temperature and pulses from localised sparking wires from burned-out tech had several reduced their capacity to look around.
“”
“”
“”
To add to her chance of not getting shot, Noir Manner had also covered herself in the gore, holding her breath and trying not to vomit as she did so.
Noir’s mouse was out of the range of the explosion.
She had sneaked in afterwards despite all the warnings.
“”
“”
“”
She was risking her life but she needed to know.
She had to know.
Slowly and steadily she picked her way through the devastation and stink.
Every time a drone stopped or froze in place, Noir also stopped still and did not dare move.
It was like a deadly game of musical statues.
She would stay like that for as long as she could bear even as all the muscles ached.
Eventually, terrified she would then slowly move on.
Was taking hours to move a few hundred yards at a time.
At one point, Noir had to freeze herself in place as she was stepping over the remains of a brick wall.
She was caught with her legs stretched unnaturally, her hands in the air for balance.
Both her feet were almost on uncomfortable tiptoe.
The nearby drone that had hesitated announce in a pleasant female voice again,
“”
“”
“”
As it popped out a trinity of three miniguns, one above its armoured shell, and one on each side.
Slowly, on the spot, it turned. Scanning the area the best it could in the difficult conditions.
Noir’s muscle’s screams as they cramped, but through sheer force of will, she stayed still and quiet.
There was a gentle movement on a balcony, about two floors up, across the square from her.
It was not a real balcony, but one created by the explosion when had a building full of rooms had collapsed.
This area was above well above the warm gore mist.
It looked like it was the remains of someone's bedroom.
Meticulously untouched,
A small confused toddler, holding a teddy bear, walked into the open, rubbing their eyes.
Noir could not dare turn her head away from what was about to happen.
Or even dare close her eyes.
She successfully held back from screaming,
But she still screamed inside the privacy of her own head
The Drone snapped around to face the child.
“”
“”
“”
Within a half-second, There was no trace of the child left but a fine red haze that the rising sun was starting to shine through.
Eventually, the drone drifted off.
And an emotionally scarred for life college woman called Noir Manners started her slow movement once again.
She needed to know.
She had to know.
Eventually, she came upon what was left of Blondie Beam's apartment block!
Noir Manner had risked everything for this moment.
She needed to know if Blondie was ok.
She had to know if Blondie was ok.
She could not just wait for news at home, as she should have.
She should not resist the pull of her heart,
Anymore, than an ocean tide could resist the pull of the moon.
She found Blondie sobbing among the wreckage.
They heard an all-clear siren sound in the distance.
The drones had not switched from kill mode to rescue mode.
Blondie fell into Noir shoulder and gave a huge sob.
Noir herself started crying with relief.
“After this, I am going to tell her” Noir said to herself.
“I am going to risk telling my best friend how I really feel about her,”
Noir squeezed Blondie a little tighter with this internally promise.
Noir then pulled away and looked Blondie in the eyes.
There did not seem to be a single mark on her,
Not even a scratch or a bruise on Blondies face!
Tears were still streaming down both their cheeks.
“Are you ok?!” Asked Noir sternly
“We need to get you checked up!” Noir continued.
“I can not believe it” Sobbed Blondie.
“I know, I know, I know” Soothed Noir
“So close!” Blondie shivered.
“I know, I know, I know” Soothed Noir again,
“But it's ok, you survived, all the shrapnel missed you!”
“It’s not fair!” Sobbed Blondie Beam again
“I know, I know,” Said Noir taking her into her arms again, “Life is not fair sometimes, but you are ok now!”
“So close!” whimpered Blondie into Noirs ear softly.
“Shuuuussssh, Now!” Said Noir, stroking Blondies Hair.
“So close…. I had the silver rank in my hands. Now it is all gone. It is not fair!”
Noir could almost audibly hear her own heart shatter!
Blondie awoke in the hospital.
Apparently, she had been found alone by the drones on resue mode.
Her only damage seemed to have been from a black eye where some blunt piece of shrapnel had caught her in the face.
She also had an odd dream that her friend Noir Manners was there for some reason,
But according to the Manners household, Noir had lazily slept through the whole thing.
Blondie just shrugged and put it down to one of those weird things that happen when you get traumatised by an explosion.
She barely cared about some silly mere dream,
What mattered to her now, the only thing that mattered was getting her rightfully earned, silver ranking back!
Noir could not ever tell anyone about what really happened.
The words of Blondie Beem still haunted her.
In blind fury, Noir had given Blondie one single knockout punch to the face.
Then Noir in enraged tears had smuggled herself home to clean up.
How could she have ever have been friends with such a selfish monster!
How could she ever have ever loved such a self-centred thing!
But unfortunately for us all, love is not a tap you can just turn off when it is no longer convenient.
Despite herself, Noir still loved that horrible, game obsessed, b***h!
And like the internal scream she had, when she witnessed a child shred by tri-mini gunfire.
She had to keep her broken and emotionally torn heart a painful secret, all to herself!
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I am trying to decide whether to complete the books I have started and signed up
I could live with the lack of financial reward
IF I had a large enough audience eager to read them
I just need to feel that the emotional rewards for the time and effort were a bit closer to what I get for my Art Work.
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What musician would want to pack a van with gear
Travel 50 miles
Set up on stage
And then play to an empty room??
Then have to pack and travel all the way back.
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When faced with the choice of 3 hours to make an A2 picture for £50
Vs
Writting 50k of words over 50 hours for $50 to be only followed by less than 10 people.
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Which am I going to choose?
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Which would you choose in my shoes?
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I made in value over £300 pounds from my art and have my first gallery opening (shared with another artist) soon.
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Money made from Writting Books, Articles on Vocal, etc etc,$20 over 3 months.
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It is not as much about ego,
It is far more about time efficiency while trying to break into the creative industries
There are only so many hours I can work in a day
And only so many years in a lifetime!
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It is not so much about mere money (although that is nice)It is more about how many people I can entertain.
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Going back to the Musician Analogy
I'd rather play in a room of 100 eager people for £50
Then a room of only 10 people for £100 who are just popping in until the rain outside stops.
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I should feel committed to completing the contracts I have signed out of a sense of duty and honour,
However, IF I do finish them. at all...
...then they will get finished eventually,
Over a long time...
Like a child picking at his cold dinner for hours.
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The harsh bit isI am sure I am a much better writer (despite Dyslexia) than I am an artist!
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Please share with me what you think?
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Great novels start here
- Writer
