Old Writing Found – Maylona

I was going through my documents, trying to find something actually, but instead I found something else. This was something I wrote almost two years ago before I knew the technical “rules” for writing. I have to say, I don’t think it’s that bad.

***

A crescent city that spans over a 50 mile radius. Looking out over the bay is like standing over a sea of blue streaked glass. To the left, a massive port of all forms of travel. Passengers flying out on jets and spaceships, sailing out on cruise liners of incredible size, and riding out on a monorail system that speeds faster than any could dream of. A freighter sits, swaying sluggishly in the port, its cargo moaning in metallic tones. To the right, the bustle is no less. The shops full of patrons hum along with sound of the comings and goings. If you listen hard enough, a hushed ruffle can be heard from the feet of thousands strolling along the bay line. If you were to look at this incredible city from space, you’d only see the bright gleaming of white. It is a shining marker of forward thinking and a full acceptance of technology that races ahead of time. It is the city of Maylona.

 

My eyes left the water-damaged pages of the brochure and stared into nothing. I let my hand go limp, dropping it to the crumbling floor beneath me. The other hand I held steadily, smoking the last of my favorite cigarette brand. I let out a calming exhale of ash and closed my eyes. I tried to picture Maylona, the city of beginnings, before it met its end. A sound behind me stopped my daydreaming. My left hand gripped the .38 at my side.

“Relax, Kess. I’m just checking on you. You know you haven’t been right since we left Florida.”

The sound of his voice both calmed and enraged me. I hated him…loved him. He’d been with me since the end. He refused to leave my side and refused to leave me alone. My thoughts couldn’t just be free to think. I had to share them like they were rationed out for two. I turned to look at him. Part of me laughed, thankful I’d ended up with someone as attractive as him. At least I would have a pretty face to look at before I left this war-torn world. Devon was strong and beautiful. He was a warrior, if one can be called such a thing in these days. It was unfortunate we couldn’t find more quiet to enjoy what would have been a terrible idea before the world fell apart. I smiled at him, putting my cigarette out on the floor. “I’m fine.” I knew I sounded annoyed. I didn’t mean to. I put my hand on his shoulder to reassure him and pulled away before he could hold it. I didn’t know why I acted this way toward him. I wouldn’t learn that reason until long after he was gone.

Those are the memories that eat at me. The ones that leave my hands shaking and my breath taken. I find myself fighting them. I can’t fight them anymore. Here I am, at the age of 82, sitting comfortably in my lounger. My view is a blue ocean and a half rebuilt city. And I would give it all up to be 28 and fighting just to have a scrap to eat every day. I’d give it all up to feel the way I did back then.

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