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(July 29, 2023 at 3:42 am)Foxaèr Wrote: But if I'm doing post apocalyptic, I was thinking of not doing modern or futuristic. Rather, something either medieval or maybe more ancient.
Depends on what the scope of the apocalypse is.
I had a humorous thought though. Because a lot of post apoc based in modern times benefit from the contrast of our technological advancements being rendered useless. A lot of post apoc has us having to drop non working electronic devices and return to farming, hand-made clothing, hunting for food, and fighting each other as resources are scarce.
If medieval peasants suffered an apocalypse... The break down in society might be less noticeable because they're already hand making their clothes and living off the earth. It'd be an interesting take but you'd have to be skilled to really articulate the impact. An apocalypse that nobody knew was happening because nobody really leaves home or travels much and their tools and weapons are still just tree branches made pointy.
(July 29, 2023 at 3:42 am)Foxaèr Wrote: But if I'm doing post apocalyptic, I was thinking of not doing modern or futuristic. Rather, something either medieval or maybe more ancient.
Depends on what the scope of the apocalypse is.
I had a humorous thought though. Because a lot of post apoc based in modern times benefit from the contrast of our technological advancements being rendered useless. A lot of post apoc has us having to drop non working electronic devices and return to farming, hand-made clothing, hunting for food, and fighting each other as resources are scarce.
If medieval peasants suffered an apocalypse... The break down in society might be less noticeable because they're already hand making their clothes and living off the earth. It'd be an interesting take but you'd have to be skilled to really articulate the impact. An apocalypse that nobody knew was happening because nobody really leaves home or travels much and their tools and weapons are still just tree branches made pointy.
The concept I have in mind has to do with a movie I recently saw. It won't involve people.
"Never trust a fox. Looks like a dog, behaves like a cat."
~ Erin Hunter
Uncertain if the post apocalyptic concept will pan out. Sometimes writing toward my goal just doesn't work. The characters will do what they want and reveal their world to me in a way that I have no right to alter.
"Never trust a fox. Looks like a dog, behaves like a cat."
~ Erin Hunter
Working this shift leaves little time for writing, mainly only the few hours after waking before I have to leave, but I am almost finished with the first chapter.
"Never trust a fox. Looks like a dog, behaves like a cat."
~ Erin Hunter
With a flick of my wrist for a dramatic spectacle witnessed only by a little boy too bored to pay attention to the show at the crossing between transepts, the music shifts from a recorded hymnal to a heavy metal anthem of blasphemy more rousing for the mind than the heart.
The congregants stir, as though waking from a stupor induced by the echoing chants of a pastor who has no actual power over anything except the gullible minds of his sheep. They look around, as well as to their religious leader, as they whisper and wonder about what sort of unholy interference is underway. There is no fear, but they are becoming increasingly unsettled.
The boy still stares at me, and I wink at him as I make my way down the center aisle between rows of pews. For a religion that preaches about the virtue of reductive living, the ostentatious display of monetary wealth always confuses me. It is here on their bodies and in the very architecture of the building. Silver and gold and sparkly gems amidst brand name fabrics. There is literally enough wealth available just here to ensure a comfortable living elsewhere for those who are less fortunate.
As much as I want to harp on them regarding the unessential capitalist mindset, I am here for something else entirely. Something far more disturbing.
The elderly pastor notices my approach, and I offer him a smile. His surprise quickly gives way to an adoration that disarms a type of physiological defense. As more eyes turn toward me, their fight or flight responses are similarly neutralized. But everyone tends to react differently to my glamorous appearance. For some, like the pastor, it is a platonic intimacy they feel for me, while for most others it is a strong sexual inclination that impresses itself upon them.
And quite often how they feel can result in chaos, as they have an overwhelming urge to be physically close to me. It is something I am still working on managing to control, but I do find that remaining clothed does improve upon the situation. Despite how uncomfortable the fabric is against my flesh.
A collective sound wave of reverential sighs rides the undercurrent of reverberating music pounding through the place like my personal theme song. The rhythm of the acoustics matches my heartbeat as I glide like an apparition toward the pastor and the figure still hunched before him on the floor.
The pastor is nothing special. Neither in physical appearance nor overhyped authority based on delusion. There is also the presence of a misdiagnosed wisdom formed from false teachings. And as Sunday is concerned, it is no more significant than any other day. What is important has to do with a situation on the floor that needs rectifying.
Still a kid, even though the changes made to his body via puberty states otherwise, his shoulder hunching and low hanging head indicates a social crippling from a community of people who can learn more from acceptance than disapproval. He should not be forced to his knees by them as though something is wrong with him, but these types of people are fond of their imaginary war with an imaginary concept.
As much as I want to effect positive change on a wider scale, I prefer to help the victims than unrealistically attempt change with people who are stuck in their ignorant ways. For them to not adequately perceive the harm being done to the young man here makes me angry. But I do not allow the emotion to show as I continue to use it for fuel to act. Anger is closely related to passion, and these are my two favorite emotions upon which to rely while I live and work.
The way his body shivers, I can hear the cause is from crying. Where the pastor and the audience view this display as a cleansing, I see it for what it honestly is. Torture, needlessly inflicted. Then, much of what these institutions do is absolutely unnecessary. It seems to be a part of the human condition to be unfavorable toward diversity, which has consistently been seen throughout history.
Being all too aware is a result of having been around for most of it. Until recently, I ignored it.
Positioning myself before the guy, I squat before him to better offer the emotional support he desperately requires. Reaching out, I gently place the tips of my fingers beneath his chin. Without a word, I slowly raise his head until a blurry gaze is directed at me.
He blinks to clear the tears from his ginger eyed gaze while I maintain a tender smile. The smile alone will not mean anything, especially since he has lately been receiving phony lip service that has instilled in him a great mistrust, but there is an element of enchantment that radiates naturally from me. Most of my existence has been spent utilizing these abilities for following my nature in trapping and harming, but programming can be interrupted and altered. Now, I help those who desperately need saving from the darker impulses of twisted inhumanity.
He does not even have hair on his face yet, and here he has been unjustly subjected to horrors no one should endure. Child abuse appears in many forms, but none quite so harsh as the environment of miscalculated faith.
I am here, I am real, and I can actually do something to save someone. Not from himself, as those around him deem necessary, but rather from those who erroneously think a form of bias is the personification of love. My kind is not designed for love, but I am more capable of comprehending its unconditional reality than those who instead want to pretend it is foundational to the whims of that which does not exist.
"Let's get out of here," I say as he becomes enthralled with my presence.
With a nod that matches his innermost preference, I guide us both to our feet. There is no resistance from the congregation as we make our way out of the church.
"Never trust a fox. Looks like a dog, behaves like a cat."
~ Erin Hunter
