Riding The Waves


The city swells around you, the currents of humanity attempting to carve out a life in the midst of war. The city itself becomes the enemy—overpasses, streets, on-ramps, and off-ramps, every piece of trash a potential combatant, every mound of dirt a part of some post-apocalyptic vision brought to life. The world of unknown chaos so many authors tried to envision pales compared to the horror they would unleash on each other and us. The collapse of government and infrastructure turns to tribal slaughter. The city becomes a heaving mass of flesh turning over and over on itself grinding out blood for an uncaring world.

The shimmering heat hangs over occluded arteries of bumper to bumper traffic every day. Redirecting and skirting the danger of being stuck in one place too long. To stop is to invite attacks of opportunity. In the early war speed, adaptability, and a watchful eye are the best defense. Soft targets that are aggressive and hard to hit become hard targets. Aggression is everything. Rifles and machineguns point out like a phalanx at everything that came close. Screaming in a foreign language you don't understand expecting the world around you to comply. There is no taming the swirling chaos. Just ride the waves and try to pick the right one that would help get you back to base safely at the end of your patrol, until you have to do it again tomorrow.


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