Marry Go Round -open-

[ashly taylor savoie]

Ashly sat on the old rusted and broken down marry-go-round in the old fairground. The sun was a few hours away from setting and cast a calm orange glow as it hung low in the sky. It was oddly beautiful but what did she know? Destruction was everywhere and she was lucky to be alive and she knew she should be doing more than just sitting there staring off into the distance but...she just didn't know what...

[deus incognito]

Dusk crept in on all sides, slowly covering the orange glow of sunset with shadows. The effect was claustrophobic, like walls closing in slowly around him. He had to get out of the "house" - closet was more like it, a single bedroom in a townhome he shared with four other government workers. He needed air, and his restless legs brought him down the cracked cement road to the playground.

The air was rustled gently by a breeze, filling the area with the desolate creaking of neglected toys. The haunted feeling of the place and the low temperature made him shiver. He dug his hands deeper into the pockets of his threadbare jacket.

The fairground, despite being filled with the laughter of ghost children and the pleading noises of forgotten toys, was far more peaceful than any other part of Ridgewood. It was free of Resistance members and military officers shooting at each other, no refugee civilians wandering around crying out for shelter, begging for food... Deus couldn't decide whether he hated the Resistance fighters, who constantly irritated and frazzled him, the soldiers who walked and talked like they were big shit, or the civilians who contributed nothing to society and expected care and sympathy anyway -- he couldn't decide which he hated most.

The hairs on the back of Deus's neck stood up. When you're in a state of post-apocalyptic guerrilla war, you develop a sixth sense for human presence. Every muscle in his body tensed and froze, his eyes flicking around him, cataloging every minute detail that surrounded him. He soon found the source of his discomfort: a girl, not very old, sitting on an old carousel. Her attention was not focused on him, and he could tell she did not appear to be armed. But that didn't mean she wasn't dangerous.

"Name and status," He barked, hoping to use the elements of surprise and cock-sure authority to gain the advantage in the situation. He stood at full height, still bristling, as aware of his surroundings as a paranoiac.