Here's a book I'm writing.
Apr 29, 2018 19:23:23 GMT -5
Post by Nightwhisper on Apr 29, 2018 19:23:23 GMT -5
Hi, uh.... well, here's background of the story. I haven't written up a formal author's note, and don't intend to until the later stages of revision and editing. Here goes. (I'll post updates regularly if anyone likes this.)
AN/Background
Life After (not the permanent title, since I haven't looked up other things with that name) takes place in late Communist Russia, namely 1990. I have created a fictional war between Russia and the US. I don't intend to offend anyone while writing this, and since Communism is a touchy subject, I won't be going into much detail about the politics. The short part of the story without spoiling it is that Russia has been bombed and the main character Anya tries to find out what caused it.
Chapter 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
AN/Background
Life After (not the permanent title, since I haven't looked up other things with that name) takes place in late Communist Russia, namely 1990. I have created a fictional war between Russia and the US. I don't intend to offend anyone while writing this, and since Communism is a touchy subject, I won't be going into much detail about the politics. The short part of the story without spoiling it is that Russia has been bombed and the main character Anya tries to find out what caused it.
Chapter 1
I woke up with a choking gasp. My auburn hair hung in my eyes and I brushed it out of my face. I coughed, my throat stinging and dry. After looking around, I gathered that I was in the backseat of a car. A sign nearby stated that I was outside of Kafe Morozhenoye in Tikhvin. The sign lay on the ground, dust coated and slightly mangled. My thoughts repeated the same question; what happened?
A large boom cracked the air, and debris shattered as it fell onto the cold concrete floor. Screams echoed through the air, hoarse and weak, and most people screaming had tears running down their soot-coated faces. A ginger head poked out of the crowd, staring at the coffee bags and mugs falling off of shelves.
I peered into a shell of a house, it’s walls crumbling. I had found no water to quench my thirst, and my head was pounding due to hunger. As I kept walking, I saw a small bump in the ground in the shape of a square. Upon further inspection, I realized it was a hatch to some form of underground room. A bunker filled with food, perhaps? I sighed, thinking of the spoils that could be in there. In a moment, I was yanking on the handle of the hatch.
The streets of Murmansk were busy with many people going in and out of buildings hurriedly. It was a typical Saturday, with most adults sipping coffee as they headed to work and plenty of kids were at home watching cartoons. Few people paid attention to a clear window, with different televisions advertised, all playing RIA Novosti, a Russian news channel. ‘...Stock your bunkers, and make sure to have enough gas masks for the whole family. Russia is being attacked with a large missile that will destroy at least 95% of the country. In other news, all Americans are being ushered out of Russia by government officials…’
A large boom cracked the air, and debris shattered as it fell onto the cold concrete floor. Screams echoed through the air, hoarse and weak, and most people screaming had tears running down their soot-coated faces. A ginger head poked out of the crowd, staring at the coffee bags and mugs falling off of shelves.
I peered into a shell of a house, it’s walls crumbling. I had found no water to quench my thirst, and my head was pounding due to hunger. As I kept walking, I saw a small bump in the ground in the shape of a square. Upon further inspection, I realized it was a hatch to some form of underground room. A bunker filled with food, perhaps? I sighed, thinking of the spoils that could be in there. In a moment, I was yanking on the handle of the hatch.
The streets of Murmansk were busy with many people going in and out of buildings hurriedly. It was a typical Saturday, with most adults sipping coffee as they headed to work and plenty of kids were at home watching cartoons. Few people paid attention to a clear window, with different televisions advertised, all playing RIA Novosti, a Russian news channel. ‘...Stock your bunkers, and make sure to have enough gas masks for the whole family. Russia is being attacked with a large missile that will destroy at least 95% of the country. In other news, all Americans are being ushered out of Russia by government officials…’
CHAPTER 2
I pulled myself out of the bunker, my head clear. An old green backpack hung over my shoulders and was heavy with supplies. I have a list around here of the supplies I found, let me just… Ah, here!
-14 canned meat (3 bacon, 5 beef, 6 chicken)
-Flashlight with 3 batteries
-Primus stove
-Dog leash (?)
-Sleeping bag and two blankets
-Tent
-Hunting knife
-Notebook, sketchpad, pencils
-Makarov handgun (no bullets)
-20 bottles of clean water (Jackpot!)
I do regret that I didn’t cover my eyes in the first room. Two children and one man lay on the floor, each with one hole on their left temple. I think I know where the bullets went.
A tall man ushered his wife and two kids into the bunker. They shook as they took their seats on a bench while the man shut and latched the lyuk, the hatch. Mere moments later, the shelter shook and trembled. Dust drifted down from the ceiling, and the younger child started crying. The family fell into a routine. Wake up, eat canned fruit, take a two minute shower, finish their chores, lunch, board games, reading and leisure, and finally, dinner. Lights out at 8:30. Until, one day, an ominous pounding started at the door.
While looking at various roadsigns, I decided to head where I knew my family resided. Most of my family lived in Moscow, so I would have a short distance to travel since I was in Tikhvin. As a fifteen year old girl, I had never driven a car or motorbike. I had seen plenty of Ural motorbikes at school, since many of the older students drove them. I looked across the street at a broken bicycle. Well, that’s useful. I thought bitterly. I could scrap it for parts, but I had no tools and I had never disassembled a bike. “Well, time to start moving.” I muttered to myself, and started towards Moscow.
Inside of the Kremlin, Alice Robinson discreetly slipped a small packet to an American government official disguised as a regular Russian citizen. Alice nodded to the man, and slipped out of the Kremlin. The gray, dark sky swirled above, giving Alice enough cover to inconspicuously hail a taxi-cab. Meanwhile, the government official read the information concealed in the packet. He smiled, and glanced around the street for a pay-phone.
-14 canned meat (3 bacon, 5 beef, 6 chicken)
-Flashlight with 3 batteries
-Primus stove
-Dog leash (?)
-Sleeping bag and two blankets
-Tent
-Hunting knife
-Notebook, sketchpad, pencils
-Makarov handgun (no bullets)
-20 bottles of clean water (Jackpot!)
I do regret that I didn’t cover my eyes in the first room. Two children and one man lay on the floor, each with one hole on their left temple. I think I know where the bullets went.
A tall man ushered his wife and two kids into the bunker. They shook as they took their seats on a bench while the man shut and latched the lyuk, the hatch. Mere moments later, the shelter shook and trembled. Dust drifted down from the ceiling, and the younger child started crying. The family fell into a routine. Wake up, eat canned fruit, take a two minute shower, finish their chores, lunch, board games, reading and leisure, and finally, dinner. Lights out at 8:30. Until, one day, an ominous pounding started at the door.
While looking at various roadsigns, I decided to head where I knew my family resided. Most of my family lived in Moscow, so I would have a short distance to travel since I was in Tikhvin. As a fifteen year old girl, I had never driven a car or motorbike. I had seen plenty of Ural motorbikes at school, since many of the older students drove them. I looked across the street at a broken bicycle. Well, that’s useful. I thought bitterly. I could scrap it for parts, but I had no tools and I had never disassembled a bike. “Well, time to start moving.” I muttered to myself, and started towards Moscow.
Inside of the Kremlin, Alice Robinson discreetly slipped a small packet to an American government official disguised as a regular Russian citizen. Alice nodded to the man, and slipped out of the Kremlin. The gray, dark sky swirled above, giving Alice enough cover to inconspicuously hail a taxi-cab. Meanwhile, the government official read the information concealed in the packet. He smiled, and glanced around the street for a pay-phone.
CHAPTER 3
I sat atop and overturned car, eating a can of beans. My previous school uniform was dirty, torn, and worn down. I had torn it into rags for random usage and found a t-shirt, high tops, and jeans. I also found a comfortable green parka and a brown scarf, which greatly helped guard my face against the dust and wind that blew everywhere. I hopped off of the car, my useless (unless I want to pistol-whip someone) Makarov in hand, and continued towards Moscow.
After a half hour of walking, I heard a low rumble behind me, and sharply turned. A grotesque, gnarly thing stood before me. It took some thinking from me to realize it used to be a wolf. It was thin, yet well-muscled and had fur torn off as well as scars all over it. The worst part about it was the sickly yellow boils riddling it’s bodies. I gaped at it, and my eyes moved around to find a useful weapon. I remembered the hunting knife in my backpack, but that would take time to produce. Too much valuable time. Maybe if I could buy myself some time, but would it be worth it? I had no idea what the thing in front of me could do, what it could withstand. Without thinking any further, I ducked into a small Mustang with a shattered windshield. I threw my backpack onto the seat and started frantically looking through it. The wolf snarled angrily as it stepped on a shard of glass. It shoved it’s head through the windshield, and I kicked it back. It gave an indignant grunt, and got fed up with trying to reach me without damaging the windshield. It crashed through the glass, it’s jaws snapping. I finally pulled out my knife and attempted to stab the wolf in the neck. It would have nothing of the sort and clamped it’s jaws around my arm. I cried out in pain, and winced as I stabbed the wolf. It’s jaws went limp, it’s eyes rolled back, and blood spurted out of it’s neck, onto my face. I scrambled back, and vomited. Maybe some ammo would be nice… then I wouldn’t have had to do that. I thought as I wiped my mouth.
The Zoopark Ri’naldi was the most successful zoo within 100 kilometers of Tikhvin. Many people came to see Mr. Rinaldi and his magnificent animals. The living conditions had once come into question, but all suspicions were soon shot down when Rinaldi gave tours inside of the enclosures and their indoor spaces. When it came to the animals, the most famous was a Eurasian wolf named Boris. He was, by far, the largest captive wolf in Russia. And, to some, the deadliest.
After a half hour of walking, I heard a low rumble behind me, and sharply turned. A grotesque, gnarly thing stood before me. It took some thinking from me to realize it used to be a wolf. It was thin, yet well-muscled and had fur torn off as well as scars all over it. The worst part about it was the sickly yellow boils riddling it’s bodies. I gaped at it, and my eyes moved around to find a useful weapon. I remembered the hunting knife in my backpack, but that would take time to produce. Too much valuable time. Maybe if I could buy myself some time, but would it be worth it? I had no idea what the thing in front of me could do, what it could withstand. Without thinking any further, I ducked into a small Mustang with a shattered windshield. I threw my backpack onto the seat and started frantically looking through it. The wolf snarled angrily as it stepped on a shard of glass. It shoved it’s head through the windshield, and I kicked it back. It gave an indignant grunt, and got fed up with trying to reach me without damaging the windshield. It crashed through the glass, it’s jaws snapping. I finally pulled out my knife and attempted to stab the wolf in the neck. It would have nothing of the sort and clamped it’s jaws around my arm. I cried out in pain, and winced as I stabbed the wolf. It’s jaws went limp, it’s eyes rolled back, and blood spurted out of it’s neck, onto my face. I scrambled back, and vomited. Maybe some ammo would be nice… then I wouldn’t have had to do that. I thought as I wiped my mouth.
The Zoopark Ri’naldi was the most successful zoo within 100 kilometers of Tikhvin. Many people came to see Mr. Rinaldi and his magnificent animals. The living conditions had once come into question, but all suspicions were soon shot down when Rinaldi gave tours inside of the enclosures and their indoor spaces. When it came to the animals, the most famous was a Eurasian wolf named Boris. He was, by far, the largest captive wolf in Russia. And, to some, the deadliest.
