Y'Know, all those post-apocalyptic novels, movies, and games aren't that far from the truth. Everything decays, right down to the stone and steel of the buildings. Though if you ever wanted free reign of a town or city, this is the time to do it. No one's around to tell you can't do this, or that. If you can find the materials, and enough open space that you won't fall down around, and you've got a game plan.
Oh, and if you have someone to play with, so much the better...well...so long as he isn't bothering you.
"Are you going to take the shot, Jen, or will I?" he asked. Wearing a black t-shirt underneath a pair of jeans and a denim jacket, he stood a bit behind me, with a golf-club and matching neon-blue ball in fingerless-gloved-hands. Our playing field was thus: Our tee-off box was on top of an old yellow school bus. We set up a pirate flag farther down the street on a bright orange hummer. I looked down at the little red ball of mine, sitting in front of a driver of similar colour, I saw the frayed edges of my black khaki shorts and black tee emblazoned with a pair of wings on the back. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. Catching sight of the flag atop the florescent orange SUV, I brought the club back and up, keeping my arms straight. I swung it back down, with a very satisfying crack I might add, and that ball flew hard and true. "Suck on that Virgil!" I shouted to my partner as we watched the ball fly through the streets, bouncing across cars and rubble until it came to rest in the back window of a small japanese car about 20 feet from the flag. Virgil calmly came forward and placed his ball on the metal screw I used as a tee. Peering out towards the flag, he pulled out a pair of sunglasses, the kind with the perfectly circular lenses of a bright blue colour. Bring his club back and back down in a second's worth of time, the ball flew sky high and it landed with a crunch on the pavement, a bit past the flag.
Shaking his head, Virgil muttered something under his breath, I didn't quite catch it. We hopped off the bus and climbed into a restored 70's Cadillac, and shifted it into gear and I nearly purred along with the engine as I pressed the gas pedal. We weaved through the street, dodging cars and debris alike, with me, of course, in the driver's seat. We pulled up to where that little car held my golf ball so tightly in that freaking window. Virgil moved over to my side as I vacated the car with a pitching wedge firmly in hand. He drove away as I stared at the little ball, wondering how I was going to attack the damn thing. Then I realized that, like all little asian cars, they all have pitiful plastic roofs. Taking a hunting knife from my belt, I cut away the roof, so that when I attacked the ball, it wouldn't just smack into the car. Sastisfied with my work, I rested my foot on the little strip I left so that the window wouldn't break, and lined up my shot. I went through the same procedure I went through with every shot. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale again. And hold it. Bring the club back, and swing it to. Without a roof in the way, the ball flew up, and right where it was supposed to go: Right into the hole we made into the hummer. Thought I was crazy? Maybe so, but I do have a method to my madness.
Anyways I watched as a bright blue ball followed my ball on the Hummer. "Haha, Virgil," I cat-called, "I made it first! I made it to the flag first!"
"Well excuse me if my ball landed in a crater three feet deep, and gained a huge-ass dent on the side." Came the bitchy reply from the youth grabbing the flag and both our balls. The golfing variety, you sick pervs. Finding our car intact, somehow, I climb back in the driver's seat, with Virgil affixing the flag to the back. Idiot. Looking up to the sky, I checked the sun's position in the sky, liking how it was at high noon. I put my foot down on the pedal and thought to myself: Hey, do we need anything?
So I asked said question aloud. My partner in survival put a finger to his head in that silly quizzical manner way some kids do. "I think we're good on food...we should be good on all that 'personal' stuff of yours...I think we're out of meds though."
Shit. That probably meant a hospital run. And hospitals mean bad news. Remember how I said those post-apocalyptic stuff are true? I'll explain further as things go.
