Alright, I know its been a long time. And there's really no excuse for it. I want to thank whomever's been nice enough to add me to their Alerts, and I promise I'll try and deliver more promptly. If you ever feel as if I'm not updating fast enough- PMs are welcome from anyone. Just tell me which story you want updated. As well, I'm more than happy to look at ideas for where the story could go. If I feel your idea is better than mine, or you have any corrections, again- very welcome. As for a Beta Reader, I already have one (though we seem to argue over the usage of spilt paint). However, I'm willing to take on a Beta for my other story, Just a Little Freddy/Nightmare.
Now, without further delay, may I present- Out From the Night.
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The city gleamed, the skyscrapers fully bathed in light, contrasting against the pale night sky. This was not at all dissimilar from day- as smog and carbon emissions had long ago blocked out the sun. But still, the only streetlamps needed in this not-so-desert wasteland were those of the neon and LED billboards advertising GeneCo's newest surgical fad.
'GeneCo...' a figure walking the deserted streets of the near morning mused to herself. It was GeneCo's fault- what had probably been such a beautiful place was turned into a disappointing disaster. Such a wonderland destroyed by a miscreant Alice fallen down the wrong rabbit hole.
The flickering lights cast many emotions on the stoic face of the matronly woman walking. The second hand sneakers she wore made naught but the occasional squeak as she hurried along.
'Don't make eye contact with anyone or anything.'
'Don't focus too long in one spot… lest you attract the wrong sort of attention your way.'
These were some of the many lessons one learned in only a few months on the street. Other similar lessons were equally valuable, but nevertheless these were the ones that mattered right now. Life was hard in this city, and oftentimes she longed to escape. Many sleepless nights were spent voyeuristically gazing at an old book's pictures of nature, or at a stray bug outside the window. She longed to belong to a distant time, a time where organ disease and repossessions were unheard of, and people did not value looks as they did so heavily now.
Wishful thinking. Most in this world had never seen a river that wasn't polluted with toxic waste and spilt blood of the dead. None of them had ever breathed in air that didn't contain deadly poisons, or smell a flower that didn't come from a graveyard or a tomb. It just did not exist, and even some noted historians questioned if such a place ever existed. These ghastly substitutes for what was so wonderful and splendid did not faze her in the slightest. There was once a life worth living for and definitely something worth dreaming long enough for. Dreams themselves were hard to come by- and only the rich got the pleasure of sleeping long enough to experience them (for how can one experience anything but nightmares in such a place?).
She supposed it was a possibility. Perchance these notions of such unshattered splendor were merely the child's stories of those who had not yet lost their innocence to a gleaming scalpel or to a glowing vial of Zydrate. Those same children as well were becoming fewer and fewer as the generations went on. The woman supposed she should feel a bit of pity; instead the empathy she felt couldn't even be put on the same level as pity. It was the amount of empathy one could only achieve if they themselves had lost their innocence after having it long enough to miss it.
A sound from a nearby alleyway caused the woman to quicken her pace and pull the worn jacket she was wearing over her white waitress's uniform. Too many things could be the reason behind that noise, and another of the city's lessons was to never stick around long enough to find its source. Another slight noise from farther off in the distance, similar to that of a GeneCo cleaner, and she broke out into a slight run. That was positively not a good sound. It wasn't unusual for people to become scared by a GeneCo vehicle (those usually meant trouble), but any passerby (had there been any) would have agreed that the lady's fear was a bit unnatural.
She reached the doorway, the neon sign above it flickering so it read "Gi-o's It--ian Kitchen". Her worn and calloused hands fumbled with the keys she had been given to open up. But even in this fumble anyone could detect she had been in situations such as this before. And as she opened the door to her place of work at the dingy neighborhood Italian cookery, the sight inside caused Shilo Wallace to gasp in shock and she dropped the keys on the hardwood floor.