1963-10-14 - Prelude: The End
Summary: A scene in the future
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None' — please, don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None

'You don't seem to mind death so much, you speak that language pretty well.'

It was like a series of explosions, tiny ones, shielded by the sound of brick and clay, and metal supports that hold up the building. A month from now, a seige laid upon a building somewhere in New York, though the exact location remains unclear. It could be Harlem, where the streets are already wet with despair. It could be Hell's Kitchen, where the dead walk and guns aplenty in hands of criminals and a lone watcher with his compansions sit upon the rise of the buildings with watchful eyes.

It could be Westchester, where the richly ones lay but still suffer the same fate of the norms, or maybe it's Mutant Town.. where there is a secret of an uprising looming in the horizon..

But it was there, in the thick of it all, bodies were strewn across the floor. Some riddled with bullets, others broken and crying for their mothers as their lifeblood stains the carpet. A hand reaches out towards what could be their savior or companion fallen in battle.

That lone building, where active life was discarded and done away all in the need for safety. To escape the war that reached their doorstep for a moment of peace during a quiet time. And most of them wonder if they will ever go back.

Yet time stands still of the lives that were once housed in something that will soon fall; dinner laid across the tables of one desolate apartment. The steam still lifts from the fried chicken upon the plate. The corn was still golden and the pie still sat upon the stove, waiting to be eaten.

A little girl's bed remains unmade, peeled back, left in a hurry. Perhaps the saddest thing of this, her Dolly remains, little smile upon plastic lips and a serene gaze that stares to the wall that was soon ripped to shreds with bullets.

But another room holds a different scene all together.

A young woman who stands in the thick of the fire, her arms lift and bent to press fingers against her temple. The whites of her eyes red, possibly from the strain of it all, or it could have been the tears of so many dead.

It was a scene that was soon to be frozen in time as they all descend upon her; bullets with their course set cuts through the air at a slow pace, the ripples seen as the little tiny metals disrupt it. But there was that lone bullet that was so close, that her green eyes fixed upon it as her mouth slowly opens.. and everything stops.

Frozen there. Hung. Twenty of those tiny little death bringers that aim to make their homes within her flesh…

'Dear Diary:

My name is Jean Elaine Grey. And this is the day that I die.'

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