Friday, 27 October 2017


My Madness and Stinky Ted


Several weeks had passed, my tech helps keep track of time. When I think back to those events, I wonder if I’m still mad. I close my eyes and hear the song. It was one afternoon, I’d stopped next to an old ship, a freight ship. It looked as good as any place to hunker down for some rest. I made my way up the side of the freight ship, noting the rustic rails adorning the archaic walkway. Once inside the cabin, I took off my dust jacket, helm, bandanna, and removed my hoodie. The smell reeked of sweat and urine, Stinky Ted must have been here recently. He was a notable bum, even by Wastelands standards. A dirty beast with demonic arm pits that would level entire cities. His odour carried a particular fragrance. None the less, I’d endured much worse. 

I cleared a space and sat down in the corner. I moved the plastic bottles, papers, and general mess to the side. Lying against the wall, I updated my map and journal, then drifted to sleep. 

Its funny, I remember the time before all this, there maybe others like me, but I’ve met no one else since my escape. I still find that day hard to comprehend, but all I can tell you is how it happened. It was early evening and I’d stirred from my slumber. I could hear a sad, soft, and faint voice. It was singing, but barely distinguishable. I thought I was stuck in a dream of past times, ancient music locked deep in my psyche. The voice continued to sing, full of tragedy and pain. I picked up my things, thinking it must be just a deep resurfaced memory of some long lost song. You know how a song is stuck in your head, and it bugs you. Where did I hear this and where is it from?
‘Great, must be one of those days’, I said to myself.

Maybe Stinky Ted’s stench had triggered something. His delightful smell is enough to make anyone sad.

I turned on my audio device again, cranking up some Askevault. A dose of Death Crust should block out the sound, but it didn’t. The voice continued singing in the background, interfering with my crusty music. Stepping outside the freight ship’s cabin, I decided to wander once more. Attempting to zone out from the voice. I walked back down the rustic walkway, checking my surroundings, it was eerily quiet.


The water at the side of the ship was rippling, which perked my curiosity. Normally water in the wastes show nothing and are devoid of any activity, other than when the howling winds cause great waves to form and crash into each other.   

The ground gently vibrated, I said out loud;
‘Definitely no boom bap or grindcore, been a millennia since any kind of bass or fierce beats or drums were heard here’.

Pebbles and old cans rolled on the floor. The song was still present in my head.  I felt an urge to touch the floor. As my hand touched the ground, I Looked around to see if anyone was there. Not sure why I did this. There were no observers, nor anyone in the vicinity who could award me points for touching the floor. Crazy thing though, back in the day, folks created an Olympic sport out of anything, which led to the 100 metres Cell Phone Dash. The event involved people claiming they were to busy for everything and anything, whilst walking towards the finish line. Their heads were locked in a fixed position, gazing downwards at an electronic screen full of emojis and gibberish passing for language. The 100 metres Cell Phone Dash, filler culture at its finest.

Returning to the present, I recoiled, frightened and shocked. Looking around again, I placed my hand back on the floor, feeling the vibrations and melody course through my my body and mind.  

A haunting sad rhythm, a song, words speaking of all that went before, and all that has come since. I quickly scrambled my things together, and ran. I ran, ran into the night. A stupid move, but I was freaked.

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