My mother was whore. This isn’t cruelty on my part; she slept with men and women for money. I’d call it a job or a profession but there were no jobs, there’s no pay system to sustain a certain lifestyle, it was more a matter of survival. She’d get a bed to sleep in, roof over her head and a meal. There was no need for writers or book keepers; no one needed their car cleaned or their pants suit taken up. But people needed to fuck and get fucked, it’s primal and basic, everyone had regressed to their lesser being.
I’m sure my birth wasn’t planned, I asked her once and she replied she wouldn’t change me for the world. I can’t help but wonder why anyone would want to bring a child into this world. She loved me, and I remember loving her.
The building was constantly abuzz with the gang that lived there. Other customers visited other whores, people drunk through the day and into the night, there where gun shots and the sound of slamming door echoed throughout the night. The children, like me had learnt to stay hidden and block the doors.
The world as it was known ended 62 years ago. It was the world of my grandparents. I was born 21 years ago; my mother was a teenager at the time, 16 I think so she knew nothing of the world before the blast. It’s all stories and tales fractured over time.
Someone finally did it; they hit that big red button and blew the world up. It’s not really known who launched first, some say China, other North Korea or American. It’s all speculation melded to fit someone’s ideals. I see no point in dwelling on it, the world’s gone to shit and we’re all in the cesspool, why does it matter who dropped us here.
No Government bodies have emerged from bunkers to rally their countries back together. They could still be down there living in their air tight holes waiting for the right moment. Or they could have evaporated along with 75% of the earth. I’m sure people went hunting for the bunkers; it holds no interest to me. Where would they even begin with putting this world back together?