Nuclear Groundhog Day (title pending)
mar 10 3:49am- New York City- Michael Carrington was in a[JR1] world all his own, one of his own rules and creations.... the kind of world you can only create in the heavy embrace of a deep sleep. He was starting to question the legitimacy of the argument that was posed by the mad man that sometimes frequented his insulated dream world, when he noticed the world....no his world start to bend and tremor around him, then finally with an ear deafening roar he was yanked out of his world with a start. He awoke to a cascading flash of sickly yellow glow that filled his small loft apartment in Upper Manhattan. Struggling to find his feet still in that sweet area between the familiar and the dream world, he rushed over to his bedside window to see if he could locate the source of the rude awakening.... There at the window what he saw filled him with an icy terror that horror movies can only dream of replicating.... Indeed, all of New York, as well as the world was filled with the very same terror....
Manhattan Post-March 10th-2016
World in shock, nuclear bomb has been detonated in New York....no known organization has stepped up to take credit......
Mar10-After witnessing such a terrifying but awe inspiring act of destruction, Michael Carrington was attempting to make it out of his building. He thought" What the fuck just happened, was that......was that a fucking nuke!?......no I must still be fucking dreaming......yeah I just watched too much red dawn as a kid, and it has finally caught up to me in my dreams" As he was running down a hallway that he had been down many times before, a hallway that was always well lit and well maintained, with potted plants that were evenly arranged with almost a machine like precision. A hallway that would be sporadically decorated with holiday decorations by its quirky management, earlier in the evening they had just finished hanging the ST. Patricks’ day decorations and were discussing what might change with their annual community festivities. That hallway was now dimly lit, disjointed, and filled with Michael’s panicked neighbors. As Michael worked his way through the crowd, his ears were filled with cries from children and babies who’s safe and slumber was torn away from them just like his, the whimpers and sobs of mothers thinking that they would never be able to raise their children in the once majestic high-rise that seemed to now be crumbling down around them. As he pressed onward to what he hoped would surely be salvation, there amongst the chaotic noises all seemingly blending together, he heard a very new sound, this was an altogether different sound, the sound of someone in complete discomfort and pain. He stopped and scanned the mass of people and spotted old MR Trembly sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall holding his right side, with his hands that were caked in his own blood. He lived about 4 doors down from Michael, a very quiet and unassuming man, kept to himself mostly, but was known to be partial to the Irish courage every now and then. It was a not so common occurrence that Michael would see the pale, slight, grey haired Mr. Trembly sat outside his door with a bottle of rye perched in one hand, a half smoked half neglected cigar in the other, sometimes completely passed out. Other times he would be half coherent and ranting and raving about something in what, Michael guessed to be Ancient Gaelic. It became a routine of his to help Mr. Trembly back into his apartment, lock up for him, and get back to his business.... You see Michael hardly knew the man but felt a mixture of pity and empathy for him. The first time he had helped MR. Trembly to his apartment, he was greeted with the aroma of stale cigar smoke, and visually the place portrayed... at least on the surface... a very neat and tidy person. The living room was with assorted knickknacks and humble figurines, in the center was a big deep brown leather couch, joined by matching coffee and end tables. General coffee table reader materials were stacked very neatly in one corner, varying from Auto Trader to National Geographic. Near the balcony doors sat a very old tv that, if Michael were to guess, it had to be pre-1960’s and was probably only black and white. Michael also noticed that there was an incredible layer of dust amongst the neatly organized things, which suggested that Trembly had not set foot in this room in quite some time. As he continued further into the apartment with a very drunk Trembly in tow, Michael spied the hallway that connected the living room with the rest of the place. Moving towards it with Trembly spouting off occasional incoherent rambles, providing some comic relief, Michael started to wonder “Why am I doing this? I must have either a penchant for kindness, or for just plain stupidity” he chuckled to himself as he imagined the very drunk Trembly, suddenly coming too from his stupor, panicking, firing a slew of curse words at him, and then diving for a gun that was probably just as old as the tv! As they entered into the hallway proper he noticed that there was the traditional array of photographs lining the walls, some of family vacations, some of family fishing trips, and a couple of what appeared to be MR. Trembly and his wife on their wedding day. “which one is your room MR. Trembly?” Michael asked while looking at a pic of a very satisfied Trembly holding a fish that said “World Record”. Trembly replied with some low pitched rumbles and a simple point to the back of the hallway, as Michael got him into the room and plopped him on the bed he noticed an urn that was intricately designed, alongside similarly engraved plaque that read “ My dear Marcia, you were taken from me far too early, I will never be whole again, I will see you soon” At this point Michael felt empathy for this man because he was reminded of losses that he has suffered, and he felt pity for him because Trembly re-signed himself to drinking inhumane amounts of alcohol, as a way to deal with his grief. Deep in thought he locked up the old man’s front door, and started to head to his own. As he got to his door and turned the key, and took a step inside, he took one more look at old MR. Trembly door, sighed, all while thinking “You never really know what to people are about, or what they have gone through, I always just wrote him off as the occasional loudmouth, and sometimes funny drunkard, who ultimately should have been kicked out months or hell even years ago. Now that I have seen a portion of his life, a small portion it may be, I realize that I should not be so quick to right off people like they are human waste, no in fact I will find a way to help him”.
20 mins after impact-Upon seeing the state that MR. Trembly was in, Michael cut through the crowds still surging towards the exits and as he reached Trembly, the building shuddered and rocked with such intensity, that Michael could have only guessed it was either another detonation, or the supports of the building finally starting to give way. Struggling to contain the new surge of adrenaline, “MR. Trembly what the hell happened?” He asked as he began checking and applying additional pressure to his wounds. “Ffuck…...fucking little shits…from the neighborhood…...tried to rob me before the blast……they stabbed me, and once the blast hit they ran off “He spoke with what sounded like an awkwardly covered up Irish accent, but amid all the chaos it was hard to truly tell. More tremors started to rock the building threatening to bring the building down around them, “Can you walk? I don’t think this building is going to hold up much longer, we need to get out of here”
Nuclear Groundhog Day (title pending)