Conflict

Mariel tries to move her legs, but they are pinned beneath a fallen log. Smoke hangs in the air of the woods like a curse, and she feels a little dizzy. There is no light but the faint glow cast by the half-moon above and the stars that, just miles away, are strangled by the city's light. Regaining orientation of where she is, Mariel pulls one leg out from under the heavy tree, then the other, her pants tattered and torn. Still sitting on the ground, she begins looking around her for Skye, who was with her just a moment ago before the explosion. She opens her mouth to call his name and is instead surprised by a hand on her shoulder. Startled but still bold, she turns around...
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Fredrick looks out from his office window over the glowing Julian district of The Great City. Working his regular eight-hour shift, the sun had given way to a million tiny gleaming lights. Today was another productive and disgusting day, thought Fredrick. He pours himself a shot of vodka and sits apathetically at his desk. Aimlessly doodling, he writes his most recent thought and continues writing. There's a train that will whisk me home in ten minutes, but I don't want to go there. Contorting his face and rubbing his brow at the start of another tension headache, the words continue to flow. Is there a way to get away from all of this? Is there anything that will let this stop, and stop and all stop-and-go, the day-in, day-out, dreary glimmer of all these things? These bullet trains, these screens, these buildings all shine , but they are as dull as dirt to me. I can barely sleep and my head aches constantly. There is barely any night with all of these lights. Yet, I am so accustomed to this, I am terrified of the dark. And I am just one of a hundred million! I work all day in a little room, am whisked home at super-sonic speeds, and spend twelve lonely hours by myself, watching screens, maintaining the systems, and drinking. The next morning, sickened but driven by duty, I plow forward once again. Why am I disgusted? Worse yet...in these conditions, why is everyone else who does this so happy? Fredrick frowns at these thoughts and curses at himself. He crumples the piece of paper with the lines of long, fine handwriting and throws it aimlessly at the waste-chute as he flees his office. The paper bounces off and lands on the floor. The office door closes behind Fredrick but never locks. Fredrick rides down the elevator directly into the train station and checks the news screen for updates. He points his Personal Scribe at the laser-port on the screen and the updates are downloaded and ready to be reviewed or played on the wall-sized VYou screen in his apartment. If this is liberty, thought Fredrick, please, give me death.

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Wes Smith was his name. But for the moment, he was Louis Redmann; a regular uniformed officer. He held a walkie talkie to his mouth and spoke into it. "Redmann to Pony, do you copy?"

The voice that answered was a distorted female voice, but Wes knew the distortion was the doing of the radio in his hand. "Loud aznd clear. How's it looking over there?"

"Everything's down. No signs of life as far as..." Movement to his left caught his eye. He turned. "Hold thhat."

He walked cautiously toward the first sign of life he had come across in the last hour or so. he ladst had been a severely burnt man who had survived he explosion. They had sent him by air to the nearest hotspital. The poor guy, Wes thought, he would be in pain for awhile; both physically and emotionally.

"Holding."

Wes approached the woman who sat on the ground;her legs pinned down by a fallen log, struggling to get free. Wes put a hand on her shoulder. "Easy there." he said. He moved to heave the obstacle from the woman's legs then turned back and knelt to examine the damage. "How do you feel?"

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The voices in my head may not be real, but they have some great ideas!

I got in a fight one time with a really big guy, and he said, "I'm going to mop the floor with your face." I said, "You'll be sorry." He said, "Oh, yeah? Why?" I said, "Well, you won't be able to get into the corners very well."

Mariel looked up to see a uniformed officer looking at her. "How are you feeling?" he had asked. Mariel once again opened her mouth to speak, and began her answer. "I'm not sure." Her voice was hoarse, and her chest was constricted and tight. She spoke again, hoarsely and quietly saying "I had someone with me, Sk-Skye...I'm from Newton. What happened? Where is Skye? I need to get him home, he's got work in the morning, and it's dark h-h-h..." She struggled to continue her rambling as her throat caught and she began coughing hard. She gasped for air and continued coughing, rolling onto her side toward the now kneeling officer.

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Wes helped the woman sit up as she coughed. "Take it easy." he said. He lifted his radio to his lips. "This is Redmann. Acknowledge."

The woman's voice crackled. "Pony here. What's up?"

"We have a survivor. Send the medics."

"Roger that."

Wes lowered his radio, clipping it to his belt. He stared down at the girl. She had mentioned a someone named Skye. Wes had no idea who that was. None of the survivors had identified themselves by that name, unless one of the others in his team had come across him. Otherwise, Skye had not survived or not yet been found.

He kept his hand on the girl's shoulder. "Say your name for me."

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The voices in my head may not be real, but they have some great ideas!

I got in a fight one time with a really big guy, and he said, "I'm going to mop the floor with your face." I said, "You'll be sorry." He said, "Oh, yeah? Why?" I said, "Well, you won't be able to get into the corners very well."

Mariel was confused and dizzy. While the officer called for medics, her coughing stopped for a moment, but her chest was still constricted and she felt as though she may be wheezing. She looked over at the officer and said, "My name is Mariel Lasitano." She lifted her hand to her head, which was throbbing, and winced her brow. "What about you? Is it Redmann? Why is it so dark? How much is damaged? We were just at the park and then--I---" Mariel was sitting but her head was bowed as she held it "---I am so dizzy."
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"Angela, I love you." Fredrick heard himself say. He had closed his eyes as soon as he'd stepped onto the bullet train. He had no clue who this Angela was, but he'd had this dream a hundred times before. The bell in the train sounded as he recalled the dream's details, details of a house with a yard like he had read about in Days Long Ago, details of himself dancing with a woman on a floor of wood somewhere, and thoughts of himself throwing children into a swimming pool and diving in after them to get them, a sort of game. Fredrick hated these dreams because they always ended. They never lasted long enough. Fredrick's eyes closed again and he could see the smiling eyes. Fredrick smiled back at her. His fantasy was interupted by an announcement in the train. "For those of you with interests of any kind in Newton, be advised: the district has suffered greatly under a vast explosion and very few buildings or survivors remain. Rescue and recovery efforts are underway. Updates are available to be downloaded from Renesian News Service kiosks and any computer with a laser port. Now we will resume normal listening content." Calm guitar strains filled the bullet train as Fredrick stood dumbly in the train. What had happened? The mystery filled Fredrick's brain and his fingers itched for an inkpen and paper. Seven minutes, and he'd be home. Just seven minutes.

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Newton District, Renesia, exploded.

Frozen, Raul Seward stared at the screen, poised in the act of thumbing OFF on the remote. When speech crept back into possibility, he cursed. A single word, and no more.

The living room of the apartment glowed an icy blue, lit by the viewscreen that took up most of one wall. A couch and two overstuffed recliners formed an open box around the room, with a coffeetable at the center. On the screen, search-and-rescue teams picked their way through charred heaps of rubble, aircraft sweeping overhead.

Raul hit BACK and played back ten seconds.

Newton District, Renesia. Buildings and nightlights. Bullet trains and private hovercraft zinging through the skyways. And then… nothing but orange flame. Like a closeup of the sun.

So much for the new job.

The newscaster’s voice repeated. “.. cause of incident unknown. Casualties estimated to number around two hundred and fifty thousand… “

Raul sighed and threw down the remote. Picking up his cell, he dialed and put the receicer to his ear. “Frederick? Hey, boss. It’s Raul. “

He liked working for Frederick, but the job bored him. And his escape route had just gone boom.

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Fredrick jumped like a nervous cat when he heard the voice of his associate come over his Personal Scribe. He pulled it from his leather bag and answered. "Raul! Hey. Cut the formality, you know you work with me, not for me. What's rocking your world tonight? Apparently Newton has been rocked right off its base, quite a boom, I gather. Did you hear about that?" Fredrick was doing his best to appear calm, but came off as nonchalant and crude. Fredrick quickly dropped his act, his phone gathering sweat from his large palms. "This is madness, Raul. What is going on?"

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((I'm assuming that the scribes are similar to one of those new phones with internet access only far more advanced. Am I right?))
Maria watched a man on the train, he reached for his bag and pulled out his scribe. She needed a new Identity, and she was checking out everyone on the train; He had a suit on and looked as though he had some money. She pulled her scribe out of her purse. She had programmed it so that she could intercept the signal of another scribe. She accessed his personal data, and downloded it to her scribe. She looked over the data. He did have quite a lot of money in the bank. She sent a signal to his scribe that immediately shorted it out. She didn't want him to find out about the apartment she was about to rent fro the next two months in his name, or all the stuff she was about to buy in his name. He would know too soon and she wanted to be long gone before he found out.

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Remember that God loves you always
in the low moments and in the good days,
when you're buried in guilt and sin and when you are on the top of your game.
He loves you unconditionally, and no matter what you do, where you go, or what you say; His love will remain the same.

Isn't that Amazing? ~JLT

A man scowled at the city. He was scowling, not for any responsibility of the city, but because he was hearing a report about a bombing. He had no idea if it had anything to do with his mission, but if it did, he felt that perhaps the city was not as safe as he had thought. Even if it was some random act, that would bring no more comfort.
He touched his left hand to the small of his ear. "Sabine," he said in a cold and hollow voice, "is everything alright? ... Okay. Keep an eye on the news. If there is another explosion, I want you to get out of the city. ... No arguements. Follow my orders. If there is another explosion, I will try to meet up with you. ... Good. I need to get back to work. I will see you later tonight."
The man let his hand fall to his lap. He was sitting with his back against a concrete wall of a rooftop entrance on one of the taller complexes in the business section. A small devise was in his hand. A wire, which ran into an electrical console on the wall, was connected to it. On the devise's screen, several charts of information were being displayed, which would also cycle to display different readings. He held a monocular in his right hand, with which he would occasionally use to scout out the city, although the section of the city that was bombed was out of his sight range.
He sighed, scowling at the circumstances. "Maybe it is time to move," he thought aloud.

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Joe Wright's Prayer

((Where is everyone?))

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Remember that God loves you always
in the low moments and in the good days,
when you're buried in guilt and sin and when you are on the top of your game.
He loves you unconditionally, and no matter what you do, where you go, or what you say; His love will remain the same.

Isn't that Amazing? ~JLT