《Those That Do Not Yet Exist》Apocalypse Post
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He did not have a name. He was the Postman, and that was good enough.
Irradiated hands falling apart at the wrists, he shuffled through the satchel hanging at his waist. He wasn't bothered by the decay - he'd been through far worse.
Looking up at the leaning skyscraper in front of him, he took a moment to appreciate its artistry. Out-of-control ivy crawled eighty feet up its sides until it peeled away from the walls, pulled down by its own weight. An array of shattered windows lined up like dominoes, broken glass reflecting the cold gray sky far above. Floor-level windows boarded up with plywood, a motley smattering of graffiti coating its surface. The top of the skyscraper was jagged, like something large had taken a bite off it.
There was a door in front of him. It was made out of metal, which seemed pointless to the Postman. If something wanted to get in, it could use the windows or pull the plywood off. Granted, the zombies weren't smart enough for that and the scratchers weren't strong enough. They could probably manage it if they worked together, he mused, but they were on bad terms to say the least. Something about meat distribution - his Scratch wasn't up to scratch. He chuckled at his own joke.
A slot near the top of the door slid open, and a pair of worried brown eyes looked out at him. "Do you need something?"
Ah, English. The language of America and Britain. The Postman took a moment to file through the dust in his mind and settled on an Indiana accent. A little flat, nothing too exceptional, and quite clear. "I have a package for Maria Dawson." He pulled a brown paper package out of his satchel, holding it up.
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The eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"
The Postman tipped his hat. "I'm the Postman."
The eyes widened, and then vanished. The slot slid shut.
He waited there for a long time. A Plymouth dropped in and curiously asked what he was doing, to which the Postman simply replied, "Delivering a package." The Plymouth nodded understandingly, spread its wings wide, and crawled away up the side of a building.
With a sigh, the Postman flicked a cracked silver pocketwatch out of his uniform's breast pocket and checked it. The hour hand pointed to Having A, and the minute hand to Bad Time? The Postman shook his head, and the hands moved. Want To, Play? The Postman shook his head. No time to play with the watch. Perhaps later, when time could afford to be spent.
The slot slid open. A different pair of eyes, desperate and a beautiful hazel green. "You have a package for me?"
French, Italy accent. Most humans didn't live with people they couldn't communicate with. So little time, none of it could be wasted. The Postman held the delicately wrapped package up. "Maria Dawson?"
She nodded, and the door slid open. The Postman heard a chorus of complaints and shouted warnings from behind it. Well-intended and well-timed, in fairness. Even if it was gone, Plymouths were known for their appetite. Whatever the case, a woman in her mid-twenties held her hand out for the package. She didn't even have any extra limbs.
The Postman placed the package in her hands. "Any mail?"
She looked up at his face and looked away just as fast. Humans were sensitive about exposed bone, he'd found. "No. Tell him I'll find him soon."
Now there was a dilemma. The person in question was exceptionally dead, the Postman knew. The package he'd just handed over was given to him by a ragged-looking man who had gone into a Pripyatic mobile reactor. Nasty business, those. Could be a little tough to make it out of provided they didn't want you to leave. Not too much of an issue for the Postman.
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Therein lay the dilemma. Which was the better decision, to tell the truth and watch her face crumple like so many he'd seen before, or to lie and watch false hope light that same face?
The Postman smiled, although with most of his own face missing it could be contrived as more of a grimace. "I'll deliver the message to him, ma'am."
She smiled and it was like a sun through rain clouds. A tired glimpse of some semblance of happiness in a world where human happiness was more fragile than glass. "Thank you very much."
Turning, she began opening the package as the door swung shut. Disappointment. The Postman had been hoping to see what was in it, but mail was to be delivered and not witnessed.
Now he had to go find the same reactor and get to the likely incinerated corpse. It would be an annoying journey, but the woman's smile would make it worth it. If nothing else, he was determined to deliver the woman's message to the corpse. Then it would not be a lie; he would have given the message to someone, even though they were dead, and the woman would be happy for a little longer.
He was a bit put out she hadn't given him a tip, though.
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The Core, The Recordings of Raan - Fantasy LitRPG Story
The blue screens all around blink like crazy with red letters saying how I'm dead. I rage and wave my hands, but punch nothing but air. Then I remember what I was told, breathe in deeply, trying to steady my mind, smooth my anger, letting the blue vertigo take me with it, letting myself go...Hard-time convicts from a space orbital penitentiary are sent to a hostile planet where odds of survival are minimal. To make things even worse, their memories seemed to be wiped clean. But their killers' instincts are not, and they soon kick in.For a space wars old-timer Raan, it's all different. He remembers everything. And that's a problem. As others fight for survival, he remembers how most of them, himself included, should not even deserve to have a second chance.In a strange new world, as he fights his own demons, he is faced with new ones whose names he does not even know. But giving up is not inside his DNA and fight on he must. For to stop is to die, and to die means he failed, failed himself and all those who still desperately need him.***The Author's Note:This is another in the Core series, the first one being The Wardens of Destiny while there is also a side story The Memoires of Eisen that's exclusive on Patreon for those who would like to support me.The Recordings of Raan occurs after the events in The Wardens of Destiny, and it's a separate thread from the main story. Among other things, I separated it into a new book as it has elements of progressive LitRPG and a fantasy-world setting.Since I'll keep on writing The Wardens of Destiny, this will be one of my side-projects. Eventually in the future, I plan to integrate some of the protagonists in this story with the main storyline.
8 77Blood Rising
Among the last of a dying race. A heart full of nothing but pain and vengeance, how will the heroine proceed? How will she become strong enough when the entire world is her enemy?
8 89Gram Bloodfeast: Retired Warlock
Gram Bloodfeast was once one of the most powerful warlocks of his era. There was a time when he commanded armies of the undead, conquering anyone who he dared lay a path against. There was a time when whole rooms of people would go silent with insane, palpable fear at the mere mention of his name. There was a time when he was enemy number one, whole legions of skilled combatants storming his stronghold of ice and stone to take his head. There was a time when he decided, "I think I'm done." Gram Bloodfeast, is now retired, living in a cozy 2 bedroom suburban house. (Credit for the cover art goes to Phasmonyc) [Participant in the Royal Road Writathon challenge]
8 82Heart of Fire
Follow the adventures of Rita and her Guardian Hearts as they fight evil, attempt at flirting, and struggle through the normal issues young men and women do when they live in a world with corrupted gods, monsters, and overly flirtatious tentaticle girls.
8 126STRAWBERRY WINE -corpse husband-
"the devil and i get along just fine"- She still took pride in being a badass, and often ignored her own problems. She was known for her ability to seem completely fine in the worst of situations, but behind closed doors she was hurting. When she disappears for 6 months, no one is really surprised and no one really asks questions. Honestly, in the four years she's been on Youtube, she's already done this twice. So she reverts to, what she calls, "Plan Z point five," in hopes of saving her career and herself.-corpse husband-highest rank-#1 in corpsehusband#1 in youtube
8 143FEMALE FACECLAIMS √√
For those of you in search of the perfect female faceclaims for your characters, this is the book for you.
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