APOCALYPTIC ANARCHIST

The distinct sound of the click-clacking of typewriter keys is what first roused her. A mish-mash in her dream that wrought the attention of how much her body ached; complimented only by the soreness in her face. She strained to open her eyes but only her right eyelid contested the swelling. Her surroundings revealed a room with peach colored walls decorated with decals like rainbows, stars, and little sayings like "Believe" and "Star That Outshines Them All". It was clearly the room of a little girl.

She found the clickity-clack of the typewriter comfortingly eerie. She sat up and moved the shade aside to peer through the window. The mild sunlight suggested it could have been the best part of the day suggesting noon was far away from either side of the sun. The road looked quiet and she could see a burnt corner of a passenger car. A relief rushed through her. Knowing the wreckage was close to home.

Her robe wasn't hers, but it kept her warm despite the fact that it was all she was wearing. She turned to get up from the bed and the moment her feet touched the floor the weight of her tiny frame sent a thrush of pain to her crotch and rear. The latter reminded her of the pain in her face and she delicately fingered the mounds and rudimentary bandages that laced her face. She sat back down on the bed as tenderly as she could and thrushes of memory rushed her mind.

Those bike kids! The hoots and hollers! The whooping! The fists and knives. The tearing away of her clothing and the quick clicking of the zip-ties. Then they started, they began to…. The word doesn't enter her mind. It's as if the story was too gruesome and violent to even be considered for a contest she once participated in. About how awful this world has become. This is not a fictional setting 45 years in the future; this is present day and society has just collapsed! The chaos and cruelty that followed were reflected in her face, which she only noticed when her salty tears stung the fresh wounds. Prompting her to pull her head from her hands and see the mirror across the small room.

"I'm Frankenstein's monster!" She said. Her words echoed in her mind. Returning her to hope. Hope that may one day return the world to normal. A world away from the severence from her son. Away from her severely disfigured face. Away from her mental state now shattered by the memory of the ra…. She still cant even think of the word.

The ping! of the typewriter snapped her away and made her wonder how she got here. She was being held captive! Did those men bring her here only to have more of their ways with her? Why was she so clean if they were so vicious? Did they continue further after she let her bowels loose and passed out?

She heard the rolling of a chair across wooden floorboards followed by the heavy thumps of footfalls getting closer. They stopped short of the door and she looked for something heavy. A brass lamp was the best she could brandish. "I have a weapon. Stay away from me!"

'OPEN WHE' is what she was exposed from under the door. She snatched it up not expecting the weighty-ness of the package. The footfalls moved away from the door and dissipated into the other part of…wherever she was…. She sat back down on the bed and was quickly reminded of the pain in her rear. She opened the letter and her heart shaped locket fell out onto her lap. The comfort inside of it was the one thing that kept her going. The photo of her little boy. The chain was different though as if it had been replaced. She couldn't help but wonder now if 'Mr. Footfalls' were a friend, or a foe.

She put the locket on. Cementing perfectly to her bosom exactly as she remembered it. She saw a letter inside the envelope and removed it, opened it up and read it. Good thing it was all in caps because small letters would have strained her one good eye even more.

HELLO ALYSIA,

MY NAME IS BOSTON BAKER BROWN. I'LL SPARE YOU THE DETAILS OF WHAT HAPPENED AS IM CERTAIN THE MEMORIES WILL COME BACK IF THEY HAVEN'T ALREADY. THERE ARE CLOTHES IN THE SMALL DRESSER THAT MAY FIT YOU. THE DOOR IS UNLOCKED AND THERE IS FOOD AND FRESH WATER WHEN YOU ARE READY TO COME OUT. YOU ARE FREE TO COME AND GO AS YOU PLEASE. BUT, I WOULDNT ADVISE GOING ANYWHERE ALONE THOUGH I CAN'T STOP YOU. THERE ARE FAR WORSE THINGS IN THIS WORLD NOW THAN BICYCLE GANGS HUNTING DOWN SMALL WOMEN. COMMUNICATION WILL BE KEY, BUT BE AWARE, I AM MUTE AND HAVENT ENGAGED WITH PEOPLE FOR QUITE SOME TIME. I ASSURE YOU THOUGH, I WILL NOT HARM YOU.

-BOSTON BAKER BROWN-

She read the letter again and again and wanted desperately to believe the words. She settled into the reality of another choice.

The windows won't budge and the only way out was through the unlocked door and whoever waited silently on the other side. She donned her new attire. The jeans were baggy so she rolled them up to tighten them around her waste. The bra was too big so she had to go commando under a white t-shirt and a black hoodie with a unicorn on the front. Her locket stayed safely tucked under the shirts and between her breasts. She hobbled toward the door and turned the knob.

She allowed the door to swing open slowly and kept the lamp close; ready to swing at any quick movement that passed by her. The hallway was short and led to another room straight ahead that looked like a junk room. To her left a bathroom that too, looked to be set up for the tastes of a little girl. The threshold to her right exposed a moderate living/dining area. She looked up and saw a large shadow vanish behind a refrigerator. She wasn't entirely certain she seen it until a hand exposed itself and waved her over.

She walked cautiously and gave herself a wide berth of the kitchen. Standing just in front of the stove she saw a man in a leather trench coat with his hood up. He motioned the universal suggestion for shh! and waved her over with his other hand. She felt frightened by the whole scenario but the man had an aura about him that reminded her of some of her artwork she'd done in the past. She seen him as a protector inspired by video games of a time recently gone.

She stepped into the kitchen with the lamp still held tight. Examining him as she walked closer. He was taller than her 5'1" frame. Maybe it was the combination of the coat and his hefty boots that boosted him to nearly 6' tall. His under layers seemed to serve a myriad of purposes. She could see knives sheathed on each side of his hips. His gloves exposed his dirty fingertips. It looked as if dried blood covered his nails. His face had dark features but were difficult to see under the hood. A tuft of hair fell to one side from beneath it. She saw him again point through the kitchen window.

She turned left and could see the back of the 'Palace Diner' beyond the bridge of her nose (The last place she remembered visiting before, before she was rap…). "What? What is it? Who ar." She was cut short by the widening of his eyes and the quick jerk of his arm into the sh! position once again. Then, he pointed with urgency out the window. This reminded her of the words in his letter explaining he was mute. The scene that unfolded through the window was only something she'd seen on television when animals attack.

Boston poked her on the shoulder and pointed to a set of binoculars next to the sink. She picked them up and squinted through them with her good eye. She could see two pickup trucks and several people standing behind the Palace. The men appeared as if they were furious; not even stopping to console the sobbing women that comforted one another on the ground. She turned back around to look at Boston and he nudged his head forward insisting once more that she continue to look. The arch of her last memory poked in and out. It was difficult to see the Palace without thinking of her current predicament. That's when she saw what Boston wanted her to see.

The men were inching closer to it without realizing it was there. She could see them peering through the wisteria that acted as natural blinders for Boston's yard. If it wasn't for the men investigating the miniscule jungle she wouldn't have noticed the predator hidden within the brush. The moment the flashlight popped on the bristles and brambles moved! A b-line that ended at the top of the ditch that separated the Palace from the yard. If the kitchen window were open the shrieking of the women would have been as clear as the rays of the November sun. She could hear the men's voices in a panicked shout as if to scare something off. Just as quickly as the brambles moved, the once snake-like shadow made its appearance.

Ripping through the wisteria in retreat the tiger pulled it's prey to success. One of the sobbing women were being inspected by the tiger. It was clear she was still alive and the tiger was toying with her. She tried to flee by crawling, but her attempt was cut short as the men attempted to cut through the wisteria. The tiger grabbed her by the back of the neck and drug her over to the neighboring fence. Then, cleared it in an effortless bound with the woman dangling from its mouth. The party in the pickups gathered their resources and drove in the direction they saw the tiger flee.

"Did you see that!?" Alysia turned to see Boston holding a chalkboard that read, MANEATER = FAR WORSE THINGS. Her thoughts went back to the Palace in wonder about how that woman may have been her. About how the puddle of blood in Boston's yard may have been her's. Her hand moved to suppress the thudding of her heart and her locket reminded her again of why she remained. Her reflection in the kitchen window brought her mind to Frankenstein.