So this is a rough draft of the first about page and a half of the Newearth story that I showed my Podium teacher today that he got all excited about.

The wasteland was barren, the air was frigid, and the young man was growing weaker. Rory, this specific young man, was around his late 20’s. He stood at about six feet tall, and was relatively well built. The large overcoat he was wearing did little to protect him from the elements, and he didn’t have much in his bag to warm him up either. Rory had been wandering through freezing temperatures for what felt like years in an attempt to reach his home of Camp #5. The mind has an interesting way of perceiving time in order to play tricks on us. Trials that feel like days are simply months, months are simply weeks, weeks are simply days, days are simply hours, and hours minutes. Time is all relative in the wasteland, and it has a cruel way of turning lonely, starving seconds into unbearable and unforgiving hours. Because of this, Rory had been experiencing his last few hours for years.

    The freezing air became increasingly windy and started to tear at the man’s face and sting his orifices. Every so often, when the wind died down ever so slightly, Rory managed to glance up at the sky only the see the clouds that shone with a hint of pale green from radioactivity begin to stir. Slowly at first, minuscule snow flakes that wielded a subtle pale green tint began to drift down from the sky and land on the man’s face, melting almost instantly and leaving a stinging mark from what was originally there.
    As more began to fall, red spots started forming on Rory’s skin. Burns from the sheer amount of radiation in the flakes. It slowly started becoming harder and harder for the man to see where he was headed as the snow filled the air with their pale green tinge, but this didn’t stop him. Not immediately at least. Once it got to the point where Rory couldn’t see even three feet in front of him, he decided that the weather was simply too inhospitable to continue to Camp #5. Seeing as the sky wasn’t visible in the slightest, Rory had no grasp of what time it was. He estimated he’d been walking maybe a bit more than an hour, and decided this would be a good point to seek shelter. A cave, an abandoned building, or maybe an alcove of some sort. Anything would do.
    After searching for such a thing for another twenty to thirty minutes, and after a good two inches of snow had accumulated, he finally saw what appeared to be a shack in the distance. He couldn’t tell the condition of the building but, at that point, it didn’t matter. Shelter was shelter.
    As he drew closer to the building, it seemed to be a sort of store that was abandoned even before The War. It was interesting, he thought to himself, that such an old structure would be in such remarkable condition after all this time. Remarkable being a generous term, what with the reality of the whole situation. He approached the door and attempted to open it with a rough push. It didn’t budge. He tried again. Nothing. He stepped back from the door a few feet, prepared himself, and threw the entirety of his 165 pound body into the decaying door, knocking it onto the cracked concrete floor on the other side. Dust and bits of shattered glass flew up from beneath the door and flew into Rory’s face. Hacking and wheezing, he picked himself up off the floor and surveyed the room he was in. There piles of dusty, decrepit boxes strewn  about the room in a haphazard fashion. The air in the whole place had a sort of weird magenta tint. It was odd, Rory thought, because he couldn’t quite tell why.
    He tiredly shook the grit out of his hair and brushed the dirt off his face. He dropped his bag, causing another small cloud of dust, and rolled up the sleeves of his coat. He slowly wandered around the room, brushing the dust off random boxes andooking deeply into the pre-war posters all over the walls. There colors were faded and they all had words on them like “Only YOU can prevent nuclear warfare!” and “Be a proud AmeriCAN! Not an AmeriCAN’T!”. Rory thought it was mildly comical, the lengths the government went to to make the people feel like they had a say in the war.
    There was very little, if any, remains of the world before the war. Small refuges such as the one Rory was currently in were all that really remained. There certainly weren’t any humans. This is probably true because of the fact that it was hundreds of years ago conjoined with the fact that it was the most devastating unnatural disaster in any recorded history and even then, not much of what was recorded is even left. Rory had heard legends, on cold nights, not dissimilar to this one, when him and his cabin mates would gather around their heaters, of giant pillars of cement that scraped the sky and weren’t just shells of a world that once was.
    On top of one of the piles of boxes under a torn poster that read “The only winning move is-” there was a small booklet. Rory picked it up and read the title aloud to himself. “The war and you!” His echo woefully replied with the same. He flipped to a random page, page five, and started to read it aloud. “In case of a bomb being dropped, make sure you locate yourself to the nearest possible fallout shelter, stay away from potentially radiated individuals, be sure to equip your Anti-Rad Rad-Away Brand Sunglasses, avoid looking outside, tune your radios to Channel 1, and await official instructions.” Rory scoffed and threw the booklet back onto the boxes. “Lot of good that did em, I’m sure.” He continued to patrol the room.
    In the back of the space there was a bright red trapdoor, with no dust on it at all. Confused, Rory decided this was worthy of investigating, seeing as he had nothing else to do when the weather was like this. The door was made of metal, and there was a handle on one end of it. Rory readied himself, reached down to grab the handle, and tugged with all his might. He let out a powerful grunt as he lifted the bright crimson trap door revealing a dark, damp looking tunnel with a rusted ladder leading into some abyss  that Rory couldn’t make out any discernible end to.
    Rory stood up and gazed around the room, to see if there was anything left for him. While doing this, he felt a sort of hopelessness.

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