So I've been having a few good ideas bouncing around in my head for a while, and here's about 2500 words I've put on paper so far. Tell me what you guys think and let me know if you think I should continue or find another hobby. I plan to make a series of post-apocalyptic shorts all tied together through common characters.
Here's Thomas' Story.
Thomas - Day 2
It was getting hot again. The fourth floor apartment built in the mid seventies did have a saving grace during the miserable New York City summer, windows that opened. When the power went out Thomas was able to open his windows unlike some of the modern developments built around centralized heating and cooling. The man sat on his couch, a place he had left only to use the restroom and bath for the past five years, soaked in sweat. He couldn’t reach the windows behind him, and as the sun poured through he could feel the skin on the back of his neck and ears sizzling. Sizzling bacon came to mind. Oh what Thomas would give for just one piece. He was extremely hungry, and although he was desperately thirsty, the only thing that came to mind was food. Looking down at the opened candy bar he had dropped yesterday, Thomas looked around for something to reach or grab for sweet succulent amalgamation of chocolate, caramel, nougat, and nuts.
For years his sister had come to help him out twice a day. Yesterday she came at eleven in the morning, as usual. They chatted as she made his breakfast and lunch. Every morning Tom ate eight eggs, a pound of bacon, four pre-formed hash browns, and drank a half gallon of milk. He had cut back in the past two years, because the declining economy and the inflation of the dollar had made him stretch his food stamps and welfare check. He was also trying to get into better shape. Since last September he had cut his weight from six-hundred eighty-five pounds to six-hundred fifty pounds. He could certainly tell when he looked in the small hand mirror which sat on the table next to the luscious throne he had built in his living room.
Was it getting hotter? It had to be, but the couch was so broken down and filthy it carried a sweet stink year round, there was no way of judging. Most summers even with the fan on him he was drenched in sweat. With the power knocked out the fan was dead, there was no TV to watch, and the meatloaf Jamie had made yesterday was probably going to waste in the fridge. Oh the meatloaf… Meatloaf would be amazing right now, even cold. Damn this heat, but it was probably helping him sweat out the pounds. That thought almost made him smile, but the candy bar stared up at him mockingly. “D***** JAMIE! Where are you?” He screamed. His voice was hoarse after yelling the entirety of the previous day. About an hour after she had left the lights went out and the TV died. It was then that he could hear the commotion outside. It sounded like the city had gone crazy with yelling, gunshots, and sirens. Someone must have knocked down some power lines or hit a transformer.
At dinner time he awaited his beloved sister. The years of taking care of him after Mom and Dad passed had worn on her both physically and emotionally. Her husband of six years finally had enough of her running to his aid every time he called. For two long years Jamie hadn’t so much as spoken to a man in the romantic sense. What was the point? They couldn’t understand her love for Tommy and her need to look after him. The minutes turned into hours, and the violent roars of the city continued into the night, but Jamie never came. Thomas tried to call her, but the phone was out. Figures, everything in the world works until a guy needs a bit to eat. He thought. Never did it come to mind that his sister, the only person in the world who loved and cared for him, may be caught up in the warfare that ensued on the street. Maybe his neighbors would help him. All he needed was a bite to eat and more tea. He yelled for help into the night and eventually wore himself into exhaustion.
Straining with every fiber of his being Thomas reached for the candy bar, and then it happened… He soiled himself. This was not an uncommon occurrence, and having lost his pride years ago he’d simply call up his sister and she’d come clean him up. With sweat rolling off his face and down his arm he was almost there, the morsel of sweet heavenly bliss was nearly within his grasp. Tom was nearly in tears when he couldn’t grab it. Propping himself up on his knee he sat back up, defeated, saddened, and hungrier than ever. There was a commotion down the hall, maybe someone was coming who would help him. “HELP!!! Help me!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. A knocking at the door brought a smile to his face.
“Yes! Come in, help me!”
“Dude, the door’s locked.” A voice from the hall returned.
“There’s a key on the trim above the door. Just come quickly!” Thomas returned excitedly. The metallic sound of the key moving the tumblers was music to his ears. As the door opened two teens entered carrying baseball bats and knapsacks and pillowcases. One boy walked in first and looked around as if assessing for threats when the other burst into laughter.
“Bro, look at this fata**. Smells like he s*** himself.”
“Shut up and pay attention.” The other replied.
“Please, I’m so hungry. There’s a meatloaf in the fri-” Tom tried to get out.
“Shut up fatboy! We ain’t here to play house. Where’s your money?” The dominant teen spat at Thomas while pointing the baseball bat at him. Thomas was confused and was nearly in tears from hunger now. After screaming and panicking over the candy bar his mouth was dry, but all he could think of was food.
“Mon… No, I don’t have any money. My sister has all my money.” He managed to blurt out, “But if you could just get me something to e-”
“I said SHUT UP! You can handle skipping a meal. Jay, go find his sister. Look in that room.”
“But she’s not he-” Thomas was silenced when the bat impacted his face knocking him one direction when another swing hit him in the ribs forcing him from the couch he called home. Laying on the floor his jaw was throbbing. He could see the teens’ feet scurrying about from below the coffee table.
“There’s NOTHING here!”
“I know, this guy doesn’t have s***.”
“C’mon, let’s get out of here bro.”
The teens fled the apartment and left the door standing wide open. Blood was pooling around Thomas’s mouth and that’s when he began to cry. As he tried to speak his mouth crunched and his chest was on fire. Had he broken some ribs? It had been so long since he had done anything that the only pain he had felt in years was from hunger. Under the coffee table he could see a pretzel. It must have fallen off his table, but it still looked OK. Fighting the pain he pulled his free arm from behind him and reached for the pretzel. Success! Stuffing the dirt and dust covered snack into the bloody mess that was his mouth he actually smiled. Thomas ignored the unbearable pain as he chewed the stale piece of heaven. With a grin on his face exhaustion overtook Tom. He closed his eyes and went to sleep on the floor where he fell.
Campfire. The smell took him back to when he was young. When Thomas was in his teens he was fit. He had played football, wrestled, and played baseball in school. By the end of his junior year in high school recruiters for all three sports where filling his parents’ mailbox and answering machine. He loved camping back then. Sitting around the fire with friends and waking up with nature, those were better days. But this quickly brought him back to the present, he was in the Bronx, and there were no campfires in New York City. Something was on fire that shouldn’t be. Tom opened his eyes and tried to turn his head, but his jaw was so swollen that the slightest movement brought tears to his eyes. He could see his wall was orange from the light flooding through the windows, but this was not daylight. Was it the building across the street? He had not thought of what he would do in the event of a fire. Years of sitting on the sofa he had avoided watching the news and seeing the burnt out buildings around town. He didn’t want to think about the journey out into the hall and down those four long flights of stairs. Could he even do it anymore? Where was Jamie? She missed dinner yesterday and never showed up today. He had soiled himself again in his sleep, and he needed to be cleaned and fed. This was unlike her. In years she hadn’t missed coming to see him even once.
Until now his hunger had fueled his anger toward her, but he was unaware of what was happening beyond this room. Had the long feared threat of Russians invading the US finally come true? Was this some sort of citywide power outage that sent the area into chaos? Perhaps a kid was shot by a cop like in the past and the city went nuts. Maybe a sporting event sparked it, he had seen videos on TV about places around the world where riots broke out over a soccer match. The “why” didn’t matter, he thought. The only thing that mattered is that he was stuck on the floor and in almost two days the only thing he had eaten was an old pretzel off the floor. What happened to Jamie? She could be hurt, maybe stuck in traffic somewhere because of this mess outside. What if she was dead? Who would take care of him then? Who would help him to the bathroom, who would bathe and feed him?
He remembered that day. Jamie woke him up to ask for breakfast. A young thing then, she looked to her big brother for help when their parents went out of town. Dad was a consultant and mom took care of his clerical work. Most of the time she could work from home, but this was an important conference in Chicago and going for a week would be a nice vacation on top of work. Thomas got out of bed and went downstairs to get something ready for Jamie before going to the local park to play baseball with his friends. After sitting down to eat the phone rang. Jamie jumped up in hopes a friend would have plans for the day. At fourteen she was in that odd stage between being a girl and becoming a young woman. She answered the phone with a cordial teen greeting, sighed, and while sticking out her tongue she handed the phone off to her brother. Thomas began to stammer and then dropped the phone.
“They… They never made it to the conference. The taxi was hit by a car, and Mom and Dad… Died.”
Unable to take his kid sister to college with him, Thomas decided to get a job and support her. After a couple of years and thousands of calls their life insurance paid off, but being in his twenties and supporting a teenage girl it didn’t go as far as they thought it would. His parents death weighed heavily on Thomas every day, as did being the primary breadwinner and the sole provider for Jamie. Some people turn to drugs, drinking, gambling, or other vices to deal with their sorrow. Tom turned to eating. He had given up on sports, staying fit, even trying to date girls. Within a short time he was double his normal size, and refused to leave the house. Jamie was older now, and she had taken over the bills and managing the trust that was left to them. With neither of them working the life insurance money wouldn’t go far. Jamie found her brother a cozy apartment in the Bronx. Although it was not what they were used to, Tom never complained. He moved in a few things, but mostly just stayed home.
The fire crackled across the street. He thought about the deli he used to love, they had the best sandwiches anywhere in the world. Thomas sniffed the air, he thought he could smell cooking pastrami. A sandwich would be amazing right now, one with ham, roast beef, turkey, three types of cheese, imported Dijon mustard. His mouth started to water at the thought of the amazing deli creation in his mind. Still bleeding he spat a mouthful of blood and phlegm that had built up during his daydreaming. The candy bar! He might be able to reach it now, he could feel it sticking into the arm that was pinned under his chest. Struggling to get the arm out from under him he strained and used everything within his power. All he wanted was a taste. With a pop he freed his arm and felt a pain in his chest worse than when he had been hit the first time. He cried out in pain and when he opened his mouth his jaw felt hotter than the surface of the sun. The he saw it, a brown smudge with a nut in it on his forearm. Like a ravenous dog he nearly leapt on his own arm. Thomas ignored the salty taste of sweat and blood, the grit of the dirt the melted chocolate picked up, and the pain resonating throughout his body. When the residue of the candy bar was gone he continued to lick and suck on his arm like an addict scraping his paraphernalia. Fatigue overtook him once again, and he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Here's Thomas' Story.
Thomas - Day 2
It was getting hot again. The fourth floor apartment built in the mid seventies did have a saving grace during the miserable New York City summer, windows that opened. When the power went out Thomas was able to open his windows unlike some of the modern developments built around centralized heating and cooling. The man sat on his couch, a place he had left only to use the restroom and bath for the past five years, soaked in sweat. He couldn’t reach the windows behind him, and as the sun poured through he could feel the skin on the back of his neck and ears sizzling. Sizzling bacon came to mind. Oh what Thomas would give for just one piece. He was extremely hungry, and although he was desperately thirsty, the only thing that came to mind was food. Looking down at the opened candy bar he had dropped yesterday, Thomas looked around for something to reach or grab for sweet succulent amalgamation of chocolate, caramel, nougat, and nuts.
For years his sister had come to help him out twice a day. Yesterday she came at eleven in the morning, as usual. They chatted as she made his breakfast and lunch. Every morning Tom ate eight eggs, a pound of bacon, four pre-formed hash browns, and drank a half gallon of milk. He had cut back in the past two years, because the declining economy and the inflation of the dollar had made him stretch his food stamps and welfare check. He was also trying to get into better shape. Since last September he had cut his weight from six-hundred eighty-five pounds to six-hundred fifty pounds. He could certainly tell when he looked in the small hand mirror which sat on the table next to the luscious throne he had built in his living room.
Was it getting hotter? It had to be, but the couch was so broken down and filthy it carried a sweet stink year round, there was no way of judging. Most summers even with the fan on him he was drenched in sweat. With the power knocked out the fan was dead, there was no TV to watch, and the meatloaf Jamie had made yesterday was probably going to waste in the fridge. Oh the meatloaf… Meatloaf would be amazing right now, even cold. Damn this heat, but it was probably helping him sweat out the pounds. That thought almost made him smile, but the candy bar stared up at him mockingly. “D***** JAMIE! Where are you?” He screamed. His voice was hoarse after yelling the entirety of the previous day. About an hour after she had left the lights went out and the TV died. It was then that he could hear the commotion outside. It sounded like the city had gone crazy with yelling, gunshots, and sirens. Someone must have knocked down some power lines or hit a transformer.
At dinner time he awaited his beloved sister. The years of taking care of him after Mom and Dad passed had worn on her both physically and emotionally. Her husband of six years finally had enough of her running to his aid every time he called. For two long years Jamie hadn’t so much as spoken to a man in the romantic sense. What was the point? They couldn’t understand her love for Tommy and her need to look after him. The minutes turned into hours, and the violent roars of the city continued into the night, but Jamie never came. Thomas tried to call her, but the phone was out. Figures, everything in the world works until a guy needs a bit to eat. He thought. Never did it come to mind that his sister, the only person in the world who loved and cared for him, may be caught up in the warfare that ensued on the street. Maybe his neighbors would help him. All he needed was a bite to eat and more tea. He yelled for help into the night and eventually wore himself into exhaustion.
Straining with every fiber of his being Thomas reached for the candy bar, and then it happened… He soiled himself. This was not an uncommon occurrence, and having lost his pride years ago he’d simply call up his sister and she’d come clean him up. With sweat rolling off his face and down his arm he was almost there, the morsel of sweet heavenly bliss was nearly within his grasp. Tom was nearly in tears when he couldn’t grab it. Propping himself up on his knee he sat back up, defeated, saddened, and hungrier than ever. There was a commotion down the hall, maybe someone was coming who would help him. “HELP!!! Help me!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. A knocking at the door brought a smile to his face.
“Yes! Come in, help me!”
“Dude, the door’s locked.” A voice from the hall returned.
“There’s a key on the trim above the door. Just come quickly!” Thomas returned excitedly. The metallic sound of the key moving the tumblers was music to his ears. As the door opened two teens entered carrying baseball bats and knapsacks and pillowcases. One boy walked in first and looked around as if assessing for threats when the other burst into laughter.
“Bro, look at this fata**. Smells like he s*** himself.”
“Shut up and pay attention.” The other replied.
“Please, I’m so hungry. There’s a meatloaf in the fri-” Tom tried to get out.
“Shut up fatboy! We ain’t here to play house. Where’s your money?” The dominant teen spat at Thomas while pointing the baseball bat at him. Thomas was confused and was nearly in tears from hunger now. After screaming and panicking over the candy bar his mouth was dry, but all he could think of was food.
“Mon… No, I don’t have any money. My sister has all my money.” He managed to blurt out, “But if you could just get me something to e-”
“I said SHUT UP! You can handle skipping a meal. Jay, go find his sister. Look in that room.”
“But she’s not he-” Thomas was silenced when the bat impacted his face knocking him one direction when another swing hit him in the ribs forcing him from the couch he called home. Laying on the floor his jaw was throbbing. He could see the teens’ feet scurrying about from below the coffee table.
“There’s NOTHING here!”
“I know, this guy doesn’t have s***.”
“C’mon, let’s get out of here bro.”
The teens fled the apartment and left the door standing wide open. Blood was pooling around Thomas’s mouth and that’s when he began to cry. As he tried to speak his mouth crunched and his chest was on fire. Had he broken some ribs? It had been so long since he had done anything that the only pain he had felt in years was from hunger. Under the coffee table he could see a pretzel. It must have fallen off his table, but it still looked OK. Fighting the pain he pulled his free arm from behind him and reached for the pretzel. Success! Stuffing the dirt and dust covered snack into the bloody mess that was his mouth he actually smiled. Thomas ignored the unbearable pain as he chewed the stale piece of heaven. With a grin on his face exhaustion overtook Tom. He closed his eyes and went to sleep on the floor where he fell.
Campfire. The smell took him back to when he was young. When Thomas was in his teens he was fit. He had played football, wrestled, and played baseball in school. By the end of his junior year in high school recruiters for all three sports where filling his parents’ mailbox and answering machine. He loved camping back then. Sitting around the fire with friends and waking up with nature, those were better days. But this quickly brought him back to the present, he was in the Bronx, and there were no campfires in New York City. Something was on fire that shouldn’t be. Tom opened his eyes and tried to turn his head, but his jaw was so swollen that the slightest movement brought tears to his eyes. He could see his wall was orange from the light flooding through the windows, but this was not daylight. Was it the building across the street? He had not thought of what he would do in the event of a fire. Years of sitting on the sofa he had avoided watching the news and seeing the burnt out buildings around town. He didn’t want to think about the journey out into the hall and down those four long flights of stairs. Could he even do it anymore? Where was Jamie? She missed dinner yesterday and never showed up today. He had soiled himself again in his sleep, and he needed to be cleaned and fed. This was unlike her. In years she hadn’t missed coming to see him even once.
Until now his hunger had fueled his anger toward her, but he was unaware of what was happening beyond this room. Had the long feared threat of Russians invading the US finally come true? Was this some sort of citywide power outage that sent the area into chaos? Perhaps a kid was shot by a cop like in the past and the city went nuts. Maybe a sporting event sparked it, he had seen videos on TV about places around the world where riots broke out over a soccer match. The “why” didn’t matter, he thought. The only thing that mattered is that he was stuck on the floor and in almost two days the only thing he had eaten was an old pretzel off the floor. What happened to Jamie? She could be hurt, maybe stuck in traffic somewhere because of this mess outside. What if she was dead? Who would take care of him then? Who would help him to the bathroom, who would bathe and feed him?
He remembered that day. Jamie woke him up to ask for breakfast. A young thing then, she looked to her big brother for help when their parents went out of town. Dad was a consultant and mom took care of his clerical work. Most of the time she could work from home, but this was an important conference in Chicago and going for a week would be a nice vacation on top of work. Thomas got out of bed and went downstairs to get something ready for Jamie before going to the local park to play baseball with his friends. After sitting down to eat the phone rang. Jamie jumped up in hopes a friend would have plans for the day. At fourteen she was in that odd stage between being a girl and becoming a young woman. She answered the phone with a cordial teen greeting, sighed, and while sticking out her tongue she handed the phone off to her brother. Thomas began to stammer and then dropped the phone.
“They… They never made it to the conference. The taxi was hit by a car, and Mom and Dad… Died.”
Unable to take his kid sister to college with him, Thomas decided to get a job and support her. After a couple of years and thousands of calls their life insurance paid off, but being in his twenties and supporting a teenage girl it didn’t go as far as they thought it would. His parents death weighed heavily on Thomas every day, as did being the primary breadwinner and the sole provider for Jamie. Some people turn to drugs, drinking, gambling, or other vices to deal with their sorrow. Tom turned to eating. He had given up on sports, staying fit, even trying to date girls. Within a short time he was double his normal size, and refused to leave the house. Jamie was older now, and she had taken over the bills and managing the trust that was left to them. With neither of them working the life insurance money wouldn’t go far. Jamie found her brother a cozy apartment in the Bronx. Although it was not what they were used to, Tom never complained. He moved in a few things, but mostly just stayed home.
The fire crackled across the street. He thought about the deli he used to love, they had the best sandwiches anywhere in the world. Thomas sniffed the air, he thought he could smell cooking pastrami. A sandwich would be amazing right now, one with ham, roast beef, turkey, three types of cheese, imported Dijon mustard. His mouth started to water at the thought of the amazing deli creation in his mind. Still bleeding he spat a mouthful of blood and phlegm that had built up during his daydreaming. The candy bar! He might be able to reach it now, he could feel it sticking into the arm that was pinned under his chest. Struggling to get the arm out from under him he strained and used everything within his power. All he wanted was a taste. With a pop he freed his arm and felt a pain in his chest worse than when he had been hit the first time. He cried out in pain and when he opened his mouth his jaw felt hotter than the surface of the sun. The he saw it, a brown smudge with a nut in it on his forearm. Like a ravenous dog he nearly leapt on his own arm. Thomas ignored the salty taste of sweat and blood, the grit of the dirt the melted chocolate picked up, and the pain resonating throughout his body. When the residue of the candy bar was gone he continued to lick and suck on his arm like an addict scraping his paraphernalia. Fatigue overtook him once again, and he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
