Prologue

I watched as the sky opened its big, grey jaws and water gushed from the ever darkening clouds. The heavens growled with angry thunder, and shook with livid lightening. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my drenched hoodie. I listened to the furious sound of water slapping the broken pavement. I glared at the black clouds.

"Is this really all you've got?!" I shouted. "Is this it?!"

The clouds rumbled, as if chuckling at my anger. I kicked at the gathering water, as hateful tears coursed down my face. I knew he was up there. I knew he was causing this. I knew he wanted me to suffer. I tore my hands out of my pockets, and angrily ran them through my soaked hair. Every part of me was wet and shivering. I didn't care. I needed space. I needed to think. I kicked at the water again, stomping through the gigantic puddles.

The sky was darker still. I watched as jagged lightening burned itself into the sky. I was outside of the town -- if you could call it that -- in the abandoned city. After the Last Attempt, everything seemed to break all at the same time. Roads crumbled, buildings fell, whole cities collapsed. I still remembered a time when everything was simple. It was a time when things were easy, travel was allowed, families prospered, governments were run by the people, not selfish, corrupt, idiotic politicians.

I started to calm myself, and combed through my hair with my fingers. I tied my hair into a pony-tail. My choppy bangs clung to the sides of my face, and hung by my chin. I unzipped my hoodie, and scraped it off. I tied it around my waist, and stomped onward. I came across a crumbling apartment building, and plopped down on the stairs under an awning. I folded my arms across my chest, and scowled at nothing. I laughed bitterly to myself. The once great New York City was nothing but abandoned buildings and crumbling cement.

One

Life was bleak. There was no happiness, no anger, no emotion at all. Everything was dull. There was color everywhere, but none of it seemed real, and all of it was coated in a barely visible layer of grey dust. I kicked at the gravel road. I remembered when New York was bright, and trendy, and full of people trying to make their mark, now it was a bunch of broken people living in broken houses, on broken streets. I had seen postcards from back in the day when neon signs actually worked, and the city had a nightlife. Now, as soon as the sun fell below the horizon, seeming to die, the town died with it. We all crumbled with the buildings, and fell with the used-to-be skyscrapers. I didn't want to die, to crumble, to fall. I wanted to go back in time, and warn everyone, tell them what was going to happen, find a way to stop the Fall. 

I kicked at the gravel, and stuffed my hands into the pockets of my hoodie. It was a dark grey, and the sleeves and hood were lined with faux fur. I looked down at my ragged tennis shoes. They were the oldest available style of Converse. Most Converse now had pointed, long studs, or metallic crap glued to the side. Mine were a plain navy blue with creme accents. They were nice, and old-fashioned looking, but they were normal.I passed a few kids bouncing about, and dawdling at the rickety old park. Parks were the only place with grass, real live grass. Most other places just had faux grass. Parks were also the only place that had real plants. Everybody else had faux plants. In reality, parks were the only real places left in New York.

I stopped in the old book store. The books were yellow-brown, dusty, and antiquated, but a good book will always be a good book. I bent down to look at a new edition to Mr. Gordon's fabulous collection. I stood up, and waved to Mr. Gordon. He was old, and hunched, and grandfatherly. He was the closest thing I had to a friend. He put up with my pouting, moody, angry teenage girl attitude, and always looked after me. He smiled at me, and went back to his work.

I wandered around the shelves, running my hand across the spines of the books. I swept my hair up into its usual slightly messy pony-tail, and shoved my jagged bangs out of my face. I picked up an old book with a sticker on the front declaring it a New York Times Best Seller. I didn't know what that meant, but in the world of make-believe, it was probably a good thing. I leafed through the aged pages, skimming over the words. I decided to try it out, hoping it'd be good, and entertain me for a while. I went to Mr. Gordon's check out station. a.k.a. his desk, and paid for it. We made small talk for a few minutes, then he got back to work, and I left, the chimes dinging after me.

As soon as the door closed behind me, the comforting warmth of the shop was whipped away by the chilling winter air. I zipped my hoodie up, and continued my trudging. I was headed for the abandoned New York City. It was my haven. My safe place. Everything that hurt me was nonexistent when I was surrounded by the beautiful crumbling buildings. They were my closest confidants.

I was getting close to the town boundaries, and could see the wimpy little watch tower. It stood alone at the edge of town, its spire just barely peeking over the miniature forest planted a few years ago. There would be guards there. Most of them knew me, let me pass with nothing but a "Hey Syl." and a wave. Every now and again, there would be a new guard, and I'd have to show my papers, but the older guards usually gave me a heads up when that was happening.

I approached the tower and the guard, Jimmy. He was more formal than the rest, still new to the job, still getting used to my comings and goings.

"Sylverlinn" he said, nodding his head.

"Jimbo." I replied, smirking.

He was a few years older than I was, and I tried my best to get on his nerves. I had a feeling that after a while he'd lighten up, and we'd even be friends. Most of the guards had warmed up to me pretty quick, but Jimmy Boy was a hard rock to crack.

I continued on my way to City, as most of the people called New York City, and picked my way across the broken sidewalk.

Two

The sidewalks grew more and more treacherous the farther away I got from the town, Daxon. Whole slabs of concrete were missing, and enormous roots tore away the weak cement. I slipped on a crumbling piece of sidewalk, and landed hard on my side. I harrumphed and pushed myself up, dusting off my jeans. I picked my way across a grey field of rubble. I hated the walk to City. It was cold, and crumbly, and hard. Every step could be the wrong one. I slipped several more times, and by the time I got to my destination, my pants were covered in a fine powder.

I found a crumbling office building. The inside was nothing but ransacked cubicles with desecrated walls and dividers. I shivered at the thought. Places like City were dangerous. Places like City were full of bloodthirsty gangs, and assassins. Places like City could kill you.

I finally made it to where I wanted to be. It was an apartment building just like the rest. The only difference was that in this one, there was a small music studio on the first floor. This was my haven. When people left City, they left the place a wreck, but someone had enough respect for music to meticulously place cellos, flutes, violins, guitars, trumpets, and horns in their proper cases, and left enough cleaning supplies to last for a millennium. There was also stuff set up like what I imagine would be in an old recording studio. Some of it still worked, but most of the wires were old and flaky. I tapped the microphone, it was off. I flipped the switch, and tested it again. A quiet boom flew through the room. It was actually on today. I picked up a beautiful Yamaha violin. The old polished wood felt silky smooth under my chin. I grabbed the bow, tapped the mic one more time, and played an intro. I let my ethereal music fill the room. It was my own piece, and had a voice and piano accompaniment. I recorded the violin part, then the piano part. I played them together, and let the airy tones fill my ears and flow around me. I let myself be consumed by the music.

I heard a ear piercing crack. I heard loud crumbling. I quickly and deftly cleaned and packed the instruments. I shut off all the electronics and ran out of the room. I looked out a window in the main office. What I saw terrified me.


The upper floors were tilting and falling. Wavering high above my head, I saw parts of the building crash into the concrete below. The top few floors would be gone in a matter of seconds. Apparently I overestimated the time frame. The top floors came crashing down. The glass blew in the office. I screamed and ducked under a table. The horrible sound of building crashing into building echoed in my head. More than the first few floors fell. I ran out of the office, and dashed into the studio. I stayed in there until the crashing stopped. I was shaking, and cut from broken glass and exploding windows. I crawled across the floor, and opened the door. I walked out into the lobby, and crunched across a shimmering field of broken glass.

I hopped through a window with nothing but a shard of glass still clinging to its frame. As soon as my foot hit the concrete, an eerie creaking sound electrified the air. I looked at the building across the street just in time to see it start to lean my direction. I stood frozen in fear before instinct kicked in. I moved a little to late, and the building started to fall. It wouldn't reach the studio, but the lobby was history. It fell faster than the other building, and I didn't have enough time to run when debris rained on me, and I screamed.

I tried to cover my head with my arms, and I ran. I ran for my life. I ran for my family. I ran. I didn't run fast enough.

Three

I tripped, and landed hard on my side. It knocked the breath out of me. I gasped, trying to get air in my lungs. I shoved myself up, and tried to run, but the building was falling to fast. I fell again, and landed on broken glass. I sliced through my shirt, and grazed my back. The building came closer, until I could see the few remnants of human life still sliding across the floor. Then it just fell, spewing debris in every imaginable direction.

I was engulfed in a cloud of smoke and dust. and huge pieces of drywall were flung at me. The very top floor of the building crashed next me, and the chunks that came off of it covered me. I fought to get out of the huge heap, but the struggle was fruitless. I was stuck, and the suffocating dust was shoving itself down my throat and lungs. I screamed again as an enormous chunk of building slammed itself into my back, right on the lacerations from the glass.

I knew the Daxon guards would see the plume of dust polluting the sky, but the question was if they would come. Buildings fell everyday, but they knew I was out here, maybe if I was gone long enough, they'd come searching.

I was delirious with pain, and my head tried to beat itself into a pulp. I felt scared tears prick the corners of my eyes. I tried once again to wriggle my way out of the pile of the debris. It was useless. I was stuck

I managed to get my arms untangled, and tried to shove myself up. All I managed was to further damage myself. I scratched my cheek on a jagged metal pipe. My back ached with a passion, and my head pounded like a madman. I got the majority of my upper body out of the mess, but my legs were another story. Every inch I moved scraped them against jagged pieces of who knows what.

I told myself to calm down, and that Jimmy, or maybe Vander would come find me if I wasn't home by dinnertime.


The clouds started to turn an orange-purple, and the sun started to make its way out of the sky. I had been stuck in this horrible predicament for hours. I was hungry, and thirsty, and tired. I hurt everywhere, and my body was battered and bruised. I knew that when the sun disappeared, the temperature would drop severely. I needed to be found. I needed to be saved.

In my desolate state, I almost didn't hear a voice shouting out my name.

"Sylverlinn!" it boomed. "Where are you?"

I tried to yell back, but my voice seemed to be broken.

"Syl!" the voice cried. It sounded desperate. "Syl, where are you?"

I finally mustered enough energy and shouted back.

"Syl!" the -- I think -- man shouted.

I groaned, and tried to yank myself out. I heard one set of footsteps run my way. "Can you still hear me?" said the voice. "Where are you?"

"I can hear you," I croaked. "I'm stuck in the debris by the other fallen building."

I heart the footsteps change direction. I start frantically waving my arms above my head.

"I see you!" the man says, and the footsteps quicken.

Jimmy's face pops into my view. I let out a strangled sigh. "Thank you so much."

He sighs to, and tries to pull me up. I suck in a sharp breath when I feel something cut one of my legs.

"My legs," I gasp "Stuck."

Jimbo nods, and lets go of me. He starts digging through the pile, chucking pieces of wall and window out of his way. Finally I seem my legs. I wish I hadn't.

Four

My lower body was bloody, battered and bruised. My jeans were shredded, and stained. I choked back tears and looked away. Jimmy looked at my face, his eyes apologetic, and started digging out the other leg. I could still move, but it hurt. I ignored the sharp pain, and tried to pull myself up. All I accomplished was hurting myself further. 

"Let me help." Jimmy said.

I nodded, and let him pull me up. He gently set me on my feet, and looped his arm behind my back. I hooked my arm around his shoulder, and we tried walking. It didn't work. My knees buckled, and my ankles were twisted. I winced at the pain, and tried not to look at my legs again.

Jimmy sighed, and picked my up.

"You don't mind do you?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No, I don't mind. Thank you, Jimb-Jimmy"

He snickered. "When will you learn."

"What?" I say defensively.

"My name's not 'Jimmy' it James." he smirks.

"Oh, thanks for the intel." I grumble.

He smirks even more and carries me almost halfway home before he starts to stagger a little.

"Take a break, Jimbo. It's okay." I nag every five seconds.

"Would you stop calling my Jimbo?!" he groans.

"Will you start calling my Dana?" I retort.

"No."

"There's your answer." I joke. "But seriously, take a break. The last thing we need is to have both of us broken and bleeding. If we have to, we can take shelter in one of the buildings that's not about to die and kill us."

"Fine." he says stiffly.


We found refuge in an old, dilapidated one-story building. The inside was barren. There was next nothing in it. It was a big, huge square of nothingness. There was a little half wall in the front, and the letters ANC TUDI

. There was scraps of tulle everywhere, and the hardwood floors were almost shiny.

"What do you think this place used to be?" I ask "James".

He picked up a faded scrap of grey fabric. "I think it used to be a dance studio. That looks like half of a dance slipper."

I followed his finger to a pile of rubbish in the corner. Sure enough, a faded pink thing caught my eye. I walked over, and picked it up. The shoe was tied to another just like, the ribbon connecting them old and threadbare. I stared at them, wondering what used to go on in this squatty cube.

I turned to Jimmy Boy. "What do you think life was like before we all died inside?"

He looked at me. "My parents used to tell me stories about what it was like when they were kids. They used to talk about ice cream shoppes and sidewalks that you could actually take a walk on. It sounded so good. It sounded so unrealistic, but that's the world they used to live in."

"I wish I could leave." I grumbled.

He gave me a weird look. "You do leave. Everyday, you leave. That's so much more than the rest of us get."

"I meant leave this situation. Run away from it and never turn back." I clarify.

"Would you really give up your home, your friends, your family. Does the life that you have now really seem that bad to you?" he responded, almost judging me.

"You, James, have no idea what my life is like. Sure I'm mean, and sarcastic, and I act like I don't care, but people aren't naturally like that. Something makes us that way." I retort.

"Yeah, like what?" he snaps back.

"Like lies. Like death. Like being lost. Like everyone judging you to fast. Like this stupid place. Like stupid people. Like stupid mistakes. Like losing everyone." I shoot, trying to walk away from him.

I open the door to the "dance studio" and hobble out. I stumble down the street, and out of sight of that stupid place. I walked in a straight line, held held high. I felt as though my legs would fall off, and my head would self-destruct, but I ignored it. I felt angry and sad, hurt and remorseful. I had no idea how a civil conversation turned into me storming out. I kneaded my forehead with the heel of my hand. I looked for a place to sit down, and spotted a rusty bench down the road.

Five

I painfully limped down the crumbling sidewalk and plopped down on the little bench. I pulled my battered knees up, and wrapped my arms around them. I rested my chin on hands, and looked up at the glaring stars. They were mocking me, laughing at my stupid mistakes. They were big, bright balls of everyone's regrets. My star was big and blazing bright with all the dumb things I've done. I let my pounding head drop. I realized what an idiotic thing it was to stomp away from the only person that knew I was out here. I groaned inwardly, and cursed my stupidity.

I slowly un wrapped my arms, letting them sit limply on the rotting wood. I leaned my head back, and rested it on the back of the bench. I closed my eyes, and counted. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1. When I open them, I hear shoes slapping the uneven pavement. I see James running my way. I look forward again, heave a gigantic sigh, and get up. I stumble towards him, and he slows down.

When we finally stop, we're face to face, tired, and breathing hard.

"I'm sorry," I wheeze. "I swear I could pass for Bipolar."

He coughs out a chuckle. "I swear I could, too."

"Truce?" I offer, sticking my hand out.

"Truce."


When we finally found another place to take shelter, both of us were exhausted. On top of that, it had started raining and both of us were drenched from head to toe. Our new shelter was nothing more than a shack. It stood between to looming buildings, and if either of them fell, we were toast. We didn't care. The inside of said shack was grimy, dingy, and smelly. It had two rooms squeezed into it. One a small kitchenette with a miniature dining table. The other was largely consumed by a queen bed and wash stand. The little bedroom had three doors. One door led to a closet that would barely hold a winter coat, the second door led to a mini bathroom with a small square shower, a toilet, and a cracked sink. The final door led to the alley between the two looming buildings.

I turned to Jimbo. "Well, this is just gonna have to do."

"I guess so." he said, glancing around the tiny room. "You can have the bed."

'Uh, no. You can have it." I say, a tone of finality in my voice.

"Uh, no. You get in that bed and sleep, or I'm gonna have to physically pick you up and put you in there." he threatened.

"I wanna see you try." I responded, mocking him.

I smirked, and he rushed at me. I easily evaded his predictable move, and slid away from him. He gave me a look of utter shock. It was my turn to smirk. His eyes widened. James tried his head-on approach again, but I was to fast. We played a game of cat and mouse, except the cat was a stumbling buffoon, and the mouse was the one pulling the strings. He had tuckered himself out in a matter of minutes, his eye lids drooping. Finally, he took a break.

I pointed at the bed. "Get, now."

He submitted, and plopped down on the edge.

"Good boy." I said, and patted his head.

He slapped my hand away, and gave me puppy-dog eyes. I shoved him back, and he landed with a poof on the flat pillows. He laughed.

Six

I looked at him. He actually laughed. He never laughs. He's stiff, and weird, and has no feelings. 

He looked at me. "What?"

"You, you don't laugh. You're a guard that takes his job way too seriously. You don't have feelings." I blubbered.

He laughed even harder. "Just because you don't see how I am when I'm around people I actually like doesn't mean I'm some guard without a soul."

I scoffed. "You don't like me?"

"Well, I like you now." he jokes.

"And the Magic Man has just surprised us all," I say in my announcer voice. "He has friends. Who knew?"

He jumped up. "I'm gonna get you!"

I squealed and hobbled over into the corner. He stalked forward, a grin stretched across his face. I put my arms up, and turned around, trying to hide farther in the corner. He finally struck, and lifted me up. His hands gripped my sides, and nearly flipped me over. He swung me around, and my knees curled up. I hid my face in my hands and screamed.

"You gonna take the bed?" he asked, still swinging me around.

"No!" I shouted.

He lifted me high, then pretended to drop me. I screeched and laughed.

"Now?" he shouted back, laughing.

"Never!" I squeaked.

He picked me up, and tried to plop me on the bed, but I wriggled free. I twisted out of his arms, and shoved him back.

"Stay!" I commanded.

"Ugh, fine, you win." he submits.

He peels a few blankets of the bed, and hands me a pillow. I thank him, and make myself a little bed on the floor. He checks to make sure I'm comfortable, then shuts of the light.

"Night, Sylverlinn."

"Call me Syl." I scold

"Ugh. Night, Syl." he says, his voice laced with sarcasm.

"Night Jimbo."

"I swear you're dumber than a rock." he grumbles.

"I heard that!" I pout.

"Good, I meant it."

"Jerk-face." I retort.

"Moron."

"Turd burglar."

"What?" he asks, surprised.

"I win." I respond.

"Loser." he mumbles.

"You bore me." I respond.

"Oh, shut it." he grumbles.

"Even when I'm beat up, I'm more fun than you." I joke.

"In your opinion, everyone is more fun than me." he jokes back.

"Yup!" I say, popping the 'p'.

"Go to bed, Syl." he groans, rolling over.

"Fine. Night James." I respond, and pull the covers up to my nose.

Seven

When I woke up, Johnny Boy was gone, and I was curled up at the top of the bed. I stood up, wrapped myself in a fuzzy blanket, and limped out of the room. I looked around the tiny little shack and couldn't find him. Finally, I thought to look outside and found him pacing around a little ways away.

I hobbled over to him, and he stopped his pacing. "Morning, Sleeping Beauty."

"I'm no afraid to shank you." I grumbled.

"Believable. So, what's the plan?" he asked.

"Wait, aren't you the guard? Shouldn't you be figuring that out?" I questioned.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 03.11.2012

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Widmung:
For Hailey. You deal with my moody, annoying, sometimes stupid self, and I love you (as a sister) for it. You and Sarah mean the world to me.