User:Nic LesFlics/Zine
From The Urban Dead Wiki
Notebook
January 9th, 2011.
I'll sort this out later. I need to write this down, for now. I figure somebody's gotta be writing this down. This city has to have a history.
I used to live over in Nixbank. I fucking hated that place. Too many churches, too many cops, all-white, Catholic - I hope it goes down in history as the least interesting, most mind-numbing neighborhood in all of Malton (or the world). I would dare someone to contradict me on that claim. Spent most of my childhood at a hellhole called Codrington Square, until my grades slipped and I stopped showing up to Mass on Sundays. All those celibate priests ought to go and get fucked.
I ended up at a public school called Carder Row, which wasn't much better, but their expectations were lower. I never took compulsory education all that seriously, anyway. (Anybody out there in Malton using their algebra-trig knowledge right now?) I probably spent as much time skipping school with my girlfriend at the old theater as I did actually attending class. We almost never had enough money to actually see a movie, but it was a place to hang. Not like we could get into any of the local nightclubs at age 16.
Who the hell is gonna read this shit? Whatever, I need to put this on paper. If you picked this up and are contentedly reading through the life story of an angsty teenager, I thank you for your interest and hope you're somewhere safe. Hell, I hope you're not in Malton. I hope you're nowhere near this fucking nightmare, or that it's long gone, a memory, and this is just a scrap of history.
History is just about all I've got left. I don't know where my family is, or what happened to them. I lost contact with most of my friends when I moved out to Penny Heights (a big mistake, it turns out). All I've got left are memories. And fear. And hope. Past, present, and future, respectively.
I've been hiding for a long time. I'll write more about that later. I'm not tired, nowhere near tired, holed up in this church with a couple other folks. Everybody seems too scared or tired or busy to talk. Sitting in our separate little areas, resting or just lying awake, thinking, preparing for the next day. Maybe I'll ask them about their stories.
Shit, I need to sleep.
I'm heading home tomorrow.
ME: "How long have you been in this city?"
GUY: "Too long, friend. Too long. So long I expect you to pull one of my eyes out as soon as I fall asleep. If that's a measurable unit for time."
GUY (to radio transmitter): "Good luck to anyone who is carrying a radio on this frequency. Don't get killed by any wandering and greedy flesh rippers or their blood-pumping brethren."
GUY (to me): "Stay free and stay safe."
