Dark god's ain't gonna summon themselves.
Change into regular clothes. Drive to where that shelter is, be sure to park a few block away from it. Go check if there's any money at all on my account, then go to that shelter and see if there's any food or drink to be had.
You get into your old SUV, the box containing your entire life sitting in the passenger seat beside you. You get changed in the car, wriggling into pants and a shirt before driving into town. It's not a short drive, and you have a long time to consider your situation, although you try your best not to. The countryside around the city is yellowed and dead, trees bare and grasses jittering dryly in the freezing wind. The winter sun is bright and the few gray clouds that crawl through the sky hold no otherworldly malice to them, at least as far as you can tell. It all appears perfectly ordinary and yet, you feel as though those trees will never again see leaves. As though that sun which shines so brightly shall soon fade, or else swell up, red and angry, and burn the planet in its gaze. An implacable dread gnaws at the pit of your stomach.
There's a lot of traffic over near the hospital in the inner city, so you detour around it and eventually arrive at the shelter. You drive right past it and part around the block, somewhere that looks nice and open, where you hope your car won't get stolen. You check your account at an ATM and it confirms that you, indeed, do not have money. Hmph.
You walk into the shelter and line up in the food line. It's around lunch time, so the ambulatory piles of grime, sweat smelling clothing and greasy hair have pulled themselves up from wherever they were sitting around the room and have formed a line at the food station. Bright eyed volunteers and clearly annoyed teens clearly here as mandatory community service shovel out weak looking soup and bread discarded from local bakeries. You wait in line until you can get some of both and then find a nice, mostly intact table to eat at. There are three other people there at the same table, but none of them make eye contact or say anything.
The soup tastes like water and celery; the few vegetables you get are mushy and tasteless. The bread is better though, and if you eat them together, it's almost descent, though not quite. At least it fills you up.
Brian stared at the clock. Three weeks to go. Most people, faced with the end of their world, would probably have an idea as to what they were going to do- a bucket list of sorts. Brian had nothing like that; all he had was confusion and doubt. He had food and water to last, he had protection. Would it all be enough? What was the purpose of this all, really? Why him? He was lost and confused.
Looking around the kitchen, he saw the bottle of pills. It was time for another.
Take a pill. See if there are enough left to last three weeks.
You get the bottle of pills and shake one out. You're about to take it when you stop and look down at the little capsule in your hand. You look into the bottle and shake it. There are -you squint into the bottle and try to count - maybe 20 or so pills left. Not enough for three weeks if you keep taking them like this. It might be best to leave them for a time when you might really need them, when you're actually starting to feel really anxious. If you're right about the world, and its terminal condition, then it might be nice to have something to help you get to sleep.
Or at least enough that if you took them all at once you'd be sure you wouldn't have to worry about anything anymore.
I shake my head and wipe my face with my hand. I really need to start thinking things through before doing them.
Do I have a way to access the Internet like a smartphone or a nearby Internet café? If so, go check on whether this situation's spreading or not.
If I don't have it, get on my bike and putter over to the nearest supermarket.
((Welp, looks like I'm living off in the wilderness 
))
You have a smartphone with an internet connection. It's not exactly the best -fucking service provider; five bars in the living room, zero in the kitchen- but it should work.
It takes you a while, puttering around with your phone held in the air, scrolling through tiny text, trying to get a signal for the 10th time, but you manage to piece together that it appears the effects of this...whatever it is with the doctors isn't localized here. There are several other stories showing up all around the country, and even internationally. Whatever this is, you're not going to be safe in another city. Or town. And who knows what will happen in the countryside. No doctors, sure, but what happens when every one like you decides they're gonna pack their shit and wait it out in the fields up north? What happens when it gets cold? When their food run out? You vaguely recall someone telling you about the "Caged rat" theory. That the civilized world will descend into barbarism within three days without food. That the rules of civilization only hold out as long as day to day needs are met and fear of reprisal is in effect. Without it, mankind is just so many Mad Max extras, waiting for their time to shine.
To the library! Listen to a news radio station on the way there.
You head back across town to the library, listening to the radio as you go. Commercials are the predominant thing you find, followed by bad pop songs and talk radio that has nothing to do with what you'd like to hear. Straight news radio proves very difficult to find; even when you find something that claims to be news, it's rarely talking about anything other then the weather or traffic. All you get is a vague mention of increased traffic around Redfalls General, at least until about the time you reach the library. It's about 9:30 when the radio anchor mentions, almost in passing, that there's some sort of commotion at the hospital. He says it's something about a psychiatric patient getting lose and that the cops had to be called in. He then proceeds to make several jokes about obamacare and you turn off the radio with a sigh.
The library is an impressive, harsh brick of a building, blending a strange mix of Brutalist and Neo-Classical architecture; like the Lincoln Monument, but made of concrete and far more sharp and angular. Polished brass doors beckon to you from between two pillars in a way that briefly reminds you of female anatomy and brings blood unexpectedly rushing to you cheeks. Bibliophile indeed.
I'll post this evening. For now I've Got Resin to pour and Skulls to paint.
((Sounds fun.))
Sam simply rests on the couch while he awaits the news to come on.
You sit around and wait, going through your relaxation exercises and trying to calm yourself down. It takes a while but you manage to get back in control and calm down. By the time the news starts you've got new focus, ready to tear any bits of information you can out of the broadcast. Unfortunately the broadcast is mostly uninteresting, local stories that have little relevance to what you want to know, weather, sports, the like. It's not till the very end of the broadcast that something interesting happens.
They cut to a young, female reporter with hair like a red Brillo pad, who quickly redirects the camera to a stern looking man in a suit standing amidst a fairy's circle of microphone mushroom caps. He seems to be in front of the hospital, but the walls behind him are out of focus. Seems like they caught him part way through his speech.
"...That last night, one of our doctors intentionally took several comatose patients off of life support without the consent of their families or care givers. He has since been handed over to the police who are investigating the matter as we speak and will be pursuing criminal charges if and when it comes to that. Our thoughts and prayers go out to those effected by this man's acts..." The man steps away, ignoring a flurry of questions and disappearing into a crowd of men in suits who hold back the journalists. The news ends soon after, giving way to some sort of terrible, generic sitcom.
Your mouth is feeling rather dry.
Toaster:7:45pm
Pyro:11 am
Kri: 9:30 am
Radio: 1:35 pm
Xan: 1:20 PM
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Topic: THE END IS NEAR : Warning: May be more rational than reality. (Read 48755 times)