Jump to content

Server time (UTC): 2021-09-18 13:43

Blood, Bullets and Politics
TODAY | 2021-09-18 20:00:00 (server time) | Starts in 6 hours, 16 minutes

Memories are worth preserving


Recommended Posts

11926932-standard.jpg

Cormac climbed the stairs of the barn, each step causing a jolt of pain up his fatigued legs. Finally, he reached the top floor, a little nook barely large enough for him. A little window sat in the middle of the wall, the glass although broken partially, was clean enough for him to look out without trouble.

For a bit, he just sat there. His legs rejoiced to being rested and the rest of his body agreed. He looked out the window, surveying the surrounding area. It was pleasant, next to the barn sat a little house. Daisy had brought him here with a few others that she knew, but after they arrived, each one disappeared one by one without saying a word.

“Well I hope they don’t mind me staying in here” Cormac mumbled to himself. He leaned forward to untie his shoes, his back cracked from the beginning of his neck all the way to his tailbone which caused him to sigh in relief.

Cormac leaned over and fetched a small journal from his backpack. Its dark brown leather cover was smooth to the touch as he grabbed it and the moonlight danced around the room as it reflected off of the golden trimmed pages. He had gotten an idea while he came across this journal in a house and wanted to try to fulfill it.

He began writing, his cursive, although beginning sloppy, improved as he wrote on the first page.

Every person that is either dead or alive and I suppose in this current time, both dead and alive, has a story. Although people may think that not everyone is important, I think the opposite. Every person has had a giant web of interactions and experiences that has shaped their lives to some degree. Some have larger roles like mothers to children, but even the lesser have their relevance. With that noted, I, Cormac Flanagan, will write about each person I encounter, so that their memory will be remembered by someone.

He flipped over the page and began writing again

Well, since this about everyone I will meet, maybe it will be best to explain who I am. My name is Cormac, I am originally from Ireland, but I am not Irish. My parents adopted me when I was very young and I don’t really have any memories of my biological parents. Not knowing them doesn’t bother me, my adopted parents are my real parents in my eyes.

I left Ireland right before I went to the University, my last adventure before true adulthood. I had the entire trip roughly planned out. I would head east into Europe, obviously hitting all the important destinations, continue through Asia, and get on a boat somewhere on the coast that would take me to the United States. Well, things got a little muddled when the infection came into a full sweep. I got to Berezino and to my luck; the docks had all been closed down. Nothing in, nothing out. I guess they thought they could contain this.

It has almost been 2 years since the world decided to turn into a living hell, I have seen people thrive and die in this place. For the most part, I kept to myself. I lived deep within the forests where not a single soul entered. I lived off the land, hardly approached the towns and cities. I always just watched from the treetops. You would be surprised what I have watched. People killing each other for food and guns at first, now it seems like the prevailing groups are fighting amongst themselves instead of the infected.

About a few weeks ago I joined the Raven Shield Corporation, something I would never had expected for me to be a part of. Me? Organization? Never. I honestly haven’t heard any transmissions from anyone lately. Maybe I never have my radio on when they are calling or maybe the same when I am calling out for them. I hope everything is alright with them; it’s not like them to remain in the dark. I should probably trek on to the Trade Post soon and find someone….

Cormac stopped writing. The moon had raised more and the light that had penetrated the window previously had faded into a low glow. He closed his journal and stuffed it into his backpack along with the pen.

Slinging his backpack on his shoulder, he slowly crept down the ladder from the nook. He walked over, inspecting the bay of hale next to him.

“Well this can work” he thought to himself and started digging a hole in the hay on the far side. After it was finished he put his backpack in it and covered it up. He created a larger hole in the same manner and climbed into it. He slowly pulled the hay around him over his body, leaving just a tiny hole over his mouth open. The hay was soft and he slowly succumbed to sleep, his mind slowed, and his breathing turned heavy.

//I am wide open to constructive criticism! Since I have begun playing him, Cormac has became my favorite character due to his unique perspective on people. For a slight background about this ongoing story, all interactions are straight from the game. I create my own RP within myself but nothing will be projected on to other characters. Essentially if I write about it and it isn't Cormac, it happen in game. I am excited for the next portion of the story which I already have started! Hopefully yall will get some interesting insight on the Ravens soon.(but I wont disclose our operations :)) I bet the page on Morgan will be interesting!

Link to comment
  • Recently Browsing   0 members

    No registered users viewing this page.

×
×
  • Create New...