Rules

Rules:
1. Read the writing prompt, but only the prompt. I don't want your writing to be influenced by my (or anyone else's) response.
2. Sit down and spend 15-30 min writing whatever comes to mind. Poetry, prose, whatever you want, just write something. Don't make it something you labor over. Write. Enjoy.
3. Share in the comments.
4. Please keep it PG-13 and under. Don't go all 50 Shades or Chucky on me.
5. There is a time and a place for constructive criticism. This is not one of them. This is a stretching exercise. Please remember the words of Thumper, "If you can't say nothin' nice, don't say nothin' at all."
***All material on this site remains the property of the original author. Do not copy or share without permission. Thank you! **


Wednesday, August 5, 2015

Post apocalyptic

I've been on a post-apocalyptic kick lately.  It seems whenever my mind drifts off into daydreams, I'm thinking about what kind of survival skills I have and if I have enough knowledge to get by without Google.  I knew a guy in Virginia who could identify mushrooms and tubers.  He regularly contributed to his family's diet by going for jaunts in the wood and gathering.  (He also shot squirrels for squirrel stew, but I'm not going to go into that.) 

I am not that cool, but I also like to think I wouldn't be too bad off.  Then again, I think that's one of those things you never really know unless you try ... and I'd rather live my whole life without trying!

So the prompt for this week is: would you survive in a post-apocalyptic world?  (Your choice, it can be zombies, natural disaster, whatever you can think up.  Just go with it!)

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My response:

I crouched in the shade of the bushes, the wind blowing in off the river hitting the droplets of sweat on my skin and making me shiver.  Upriver about a mile, I could see the bridge.  From where I stood, I couldn't see anyone up there, but the couple I'd traveled with a week ago said there was no crossing it.  Both sides had gangs camped out.  Armed groups did alright, getting by with just a toll.  A single woman ... not a chance.

I watched the bridge for a while, playing with the idea of trying.  The Mississippi is no small river.  But even if I didn't see movement on the bridge, there was too much cover on either side of the bridge.  Fifty men could be hiding in the trees, and I wouldn't see them until it was too late. 

With a frown and a sigh, I turned and worked my way through the brush heading south.  I'd already made it from New York to Illinois.  I'd figured out how to scavenge, and I'd even landed myself two guns and a fair amount of ammo to go with them.  A guarded bridge wasn't about to stop me.  If I had to cross the Mississippi, I'd find a way to cross it.

The Mississippi could be as far as one mile across.  One mile.  Could I swim that?  I'd done swim team as a kid, but it wasn't my thing.  I was a certified scuba diver, but I didn't have flippers or scuba gear.  Then again, if I picked the right stretch, I might have a chance.

A slim chance.  Every moment I spent on the east shore grated on my soul, but I knew if I just threw myself in, I'd never make it.  For four days I worked my way up and down the river.  I'd fight through the boggy bank for a quarter mile and then sit and watch the river.  Then I'd move again.  Up and back, up and back, until I found my place.

Mine was the spot just upriver from where the current seemed to dip and swirl towards the opposite bank.  My best shot was using the current to work for me.  I made sure the river was clear for two miles from my starting spot.  I was going to go for quite a ride.  Then I started the pep talk.  Every stroke brought me closer to the west bank.

I found a shallow pool, protected by a sand bank and practiced.  First I thought if I filled all the ziplock bags I wasn't using with air and put them in my backpack, it might work like a life vest, and if I wore it on my stomach, it would help me float.  But with the bag on my stomach, my stroke was awkward.  It wouldn't work.  Leaving the backpack wasn't an option, so I settled for leaving enough full ziplocks to help offset the weight of the pack, without making it too bulky.


... I would love to finish this, but I'm out of time.  If you're intrigued with this idea, as I am, here are two articles I found interesting:
http://www.outsideonline.com/1909766/anyone-dip
http://lacrossetribune.com/news/local/many-try-few-succeed-in-foolish-attempts-to-swim-river/article_1556282c-ee69-11e1-b895-0019bb2963f4.html


(Also, I'm horribly sorry for being late again.  Honestly, I'm wondering if the time and season for this blog is coming to an end, and I'd like to take this time to invite you to comment and let me know if you read/enjoy this blog.  I'm thinking about closing this out after three years, which would be the end of this year.  I'd still leave it up, but three years of weekly quotes ought to be enough to satisfy anyone.)

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