The bell tower was the last standing edifice of symbolism that the Catholic Cathedral still held on to for dear life in a world without salvation. The latticework of masonry lining it was almost broken away and exposed an inner shell of fragile wood and that sheltered a structure of ancient stone as support. Even in the doubt of God and religion as the answer to the world’s problems, it still stood tall with confidence and an echoing reminder of what had been and that salvation and freedom was still possible under the right circumstances. With every action, there is a consequence. With every consequence, there is a victim. Ivy Winters was that victim of consequence.
In the time of the Apocalypse, the world was in shambles. The last atomic bomb had dropped and the aftermath covered the world over with a deafening sonic blast that killed all that got in its way. There had been warnings, a series of alarms that were harbingers of devastation soon to come, but some people defied what was set out in front of them and carried on with the tasks of their daily repetition. It dropped on the White House, the building of Justice and Authority, and annihilated it without mercy. People were killed, some less innocent to the ways of the rich than others, and a large mushroom cloud of fire, dust, and limbs rose up into the air as a sign of temporary success. That feeling of enlightenment of the detonator’s angry mind soon faded as their plans went terribly awry.
The sonic boom that erupted soon after was stronger than anticipated and was only supposed to wipe out the State, yet it stretched even farther and riled the forces of nature. Earthquakes rattled the countryside, breaking open the grounds and leaving behind large crevices that sunk deep into the unknown, and brought down most skyscrapers. Tsunamis plagued the oceans and roared against coastline cities, demolishing most, and drowning entire countries beneath the icy force. But the worst, playing on instinctual fear of the dark, was the everlasting dark of the sky. Dust had collected from the mass of damaged lands and clouds held the particles in their growing masses. The sun was extinct, only showing a glimmer from time to time, and the lands fell into a deep black. The world had changed drastically and those who survived had to adapt the best they could.
George Winters, her father, and her mother, Samantha, that was pregnant with her at the time, emerged from their shared cellar and took one look at their devastated world and saw a new canvas instead of a broken world. The families, five at the time, who George had taken in to save them from the Apocalypse, immediately proposed that he should be the President of their new Post-Apocalyptic world. He was modest, stating he would be too busy taking care of his newborn baby, but he realized that he was granted two children instead of one. The new America was his other baby, and Ivy was given a twin.
She was born in a hospital, one that was rebuilt and could handle just about any disease that came in its doors, and never cried. Instead, she observed with large brown eyes and took to her father and they built a bond that only they could share. To him, she was the most precious jewel and the most perfect angel God had ever graced that dirty land with. And to her, he was the strongest man she ever knew; in the face of danger, loss, and agony. It was only on that fateful day, when she was nine, that she saw him fall forever and drift away from her. Year after year she began to forget his touch, his voice, and the way he smiled and laughed. Yet, she still had the painful reminder of what had happened burnt into her forehead; a scar from the hot barrel of one of the guns that killed George Winters.
Her foot edged on the open window of the bell tower and the other was planted firmly on the dusty, wooden floor. Ivy was seated on an old stool, watching the town go by, with her back against the giant bell she affectionately named ‘Liberty’ from the giant crack in it that caused its handicap from being used. The world had changed after her father’s death, and so had hers. The new glory he had constructed crumbled shortly after the new president came to power with his radical idea to change for the worse. He had been behind her father’s death, she was sure, due to the rising opposition between the two men when she was a child. Human nature was a funny thing to her – When a great force came that they could not oppose logically, they destroyed it using brute force. They were still primal in their nature than they would have liked to admit.
The beep from her watch’s alarm broke her reminiscing and aroused her sleeping senses. Ivy glanced to the left and leaned forward, taking her leg off the edge of the window and readying herself for the glorious sight to come. In a matter of moments, there was a loud explosion and a minor fireball rose into the night sky. It had been her doing in eliminating another henchman that acted their part in her father’s demise; she knew him as Master Sergeant John Wolfe. He was the type of man who prided himself on the ability to win a hand of cards and pleasure a prostitute when he needed to, though he was more accustomed to underage flesh. The baby-prostitutes, girls known to be underage but needed the money for their families, always returned from his grasp with more than a sore body; he frowned upon prophylactics. John Wolfe was scum.
Smiling, she leaned back and laced her fingers behind her head, catching some of her brown hair as she did.
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Julii's blog.
Well, this is a blog. So, I plan on writing about anything that comes to mind. I usually rant -- Just so you're aware.
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