Bluegrass Red
 

It was in these hills my parents lived. It was in these hills I was born. It was in these hills I lived. It was in these hills I hunted. It was these hills I left when I joined up at seventeen.

We shipped out on a heavy cruiser, 100,000 strong, to meet the enemy far from our homes. Those of us that survived returned to an almost empty world. Everything was gone. No city stood. While we were away, They came and destroyed. And stayed. We returned to a world -

Our world is no more...

Civilization is a thing not remembered by most. We who were left reverted to a way of life somewhat short of civilization. Running, hiding, fighting when we could, but, accomplishing little. Nothing but living to the next dawn. Scavenging to live.

We have many of their 'guns'. They do not shoot bullets, but rather, light. There is no bang, no hum, nothing. Press the plate on the side, and light shoots out the business end. Not so complicated. I took the first one from one of them after beating the life from it with a club fashioned from the bole of a hickory tree. Using that one, we took more. And more.

The guns operate indefinitely, as far as we can tell. They're nice to have on a cool evening, as they are always warm to the touch.

It is to these hills we return to be safe. They do not come into these hills anymore. I suppose the pile of bodies at the bottom of this mountain is warning enough to not venture into these hills.



These hills belong to me.

Oh, I thought there'd be some smoke in here.

I like, Grav.

:vikingsmi :thumb:

Oh, I like it. Very nice.