It all ended the day of the blast.
They were supposed to save us - the Police. Their words, always swollen with reassuring adjectives. Their voices always sounded thin to me. The way you can tell when an answering machine is speaking, rather than a live person.
Maybe that's why they didn't actually save us that day. Their bluff was finally called. They came up thin.
And 120,000,000 people are gone now, because of it.
My name is Miles. The rest of it isn't important. Always felt like my name indicated I had a great journey in store. Now, I'm not so sure about that.
I've heard stories. People used to travel an average of forty miles a day to go to a place they hated, do something they had to be bribed to do, then drive back home.
Apparently they used to yell at each other on the way home. All trying to get home the fastest. Each of them had to be first. I read somewhere once that experts didn't fully understand why this phenomenon existed. Seems pretty obvious to me.
These days, most people don't travel forty miles in a year. At least not in the Burgh.
After all, these days, why would you ever want to leave?
***
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About the Creator
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Poems, articles & stories 📓
Expressions of things seen 🌌
Sharing of more subtle things felt ✨
Friends call me Tony. 🌊
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Comments (2)
Oh my gosh- I've been off Vocal for several days and I have so much to catch up on! I see at least 5(?) new pieces from you- I have my reading list for the week:) THIS is story is EXCITING! Miles is one of my favorite names, actually. I would have picked it for our second kiddo, but my cousin took it first for his little one:) I'm hooked- looking forward to the following chapters. Also, the title is perfect and intriguing.
Nice story😉