Author Topic: Neon Apocalypse: Tales of Neon Lights, A Coke'd Out Director, and His Crew (Read 1069 times)

ajwilli1 · « **on:** March 01, 2015, 10:48:00 pm »

Neon Apocalypse: Skittles

~~~Current Intro~~~

It has been twenty-five years and a couple of weeks since the day when the Cataclysm hit. The trauma on the world and it's people has been done. Raiders, starvation, mentally snapping under the weight of this new world; all apart of the norm in post-apocalyptic America.

But there's One Director brave enough to break that mold, he's going to show us that life ain't so bad. Armed with his trusty camera, and a legion of starving tribals. He'll show us how to live, laugh, and love in the Apocalypse.

This is Neon Apocalypse

~~~~~

That distinct Miami sunrise started its ascent, painting the skies and land a beautiful shade of blues, hues of orange, and glimmers of purple as the sunshine reached the Floridan beaches; causing the water to sparkle, it was so picturesque and no Floridians were there to ruin it. This beautiful morning was permiated by the sounds of early 2010's rap music: "Green and purple, green and purple-" "Hey, "Mitch" did I ever tell you that I was never a fan of early 21st century rap?" Razz cracked open another bottle of flat beer on the edge of the RV's roof, it making a silent hiss, the bottle cap flung off and bounced off the zombie's foreheads below them.

"So that means you didn't like the playlist I made you?" They both took a swig and winced in disgust, wondering why they were still drinking the flat "piss-water". "Ouch. I kinda forgot about that... is it alright if I hop down there and change the channel?", climbing to his feet he looked down into the hatch, and looking back up was the food stained carpet of the RV. "Mitch" nodded still looking down, the feelings disappointment started to show through. {"How could my friend not like my mixtape? That shit was crackin'!"}, he thought to himself as he heard the music changing below.

"AND HE PRA-"

"God you'd think there's nothing good on! Oh wait, I think I found something..."

"Doesn't really fit our current situation, but better then nothing." Bottles clattered below. Razz must've been grabbing more of the stale alcohol. "So. How pissed do you think Timmy is right now?" Razz asked climbing the ladder up with one hand, while the other was occupied carrying a rattling 6-pack of canned beer.

~~~Meanwhile~~~

The Director whipped his head back, his long hair going over his face, slicking his hair back. As he had finished snorting another line, this time off of his assistant's breasts, "I don't know what the fuck led to this!? BUT I'M LOVIN' IT BABY!"

~~~~~~

"Very.", "Mitch" responded with disappointment still weighing heavily in his voice. "Daww, cheer up man. I'm pretty sure we'll just get a slap on the wrists and we get to go free." One zombie clawed off another portion of metal, this time ripping into one of the main fuel-lines. Causing the putrid (and yet somehow pleasing) scent of gasoline to pollute the air below them, coating the zombies and causing some to slip flat on their backs; becoming stuck on their backs like a tortoises. "Here, tell ya' what,", he said climbing to his feet and crunching his empty bear can with his feet, then punting it off the RV roof. "Why don't we clear out some of these zombies, and bring some of this beer back as an apology." A slight smile started to form across "Mitch's" stoney exterior.

"Mitch" kept his foot work, fighting stance, and dodges all in tune with the song. Dodge under, move quick left, and WHAM! A large spread of zombie viscera would go flying into the air, the blood turning the same hues of orange and purple as the sunrise, black gooey brain chunks splattered against the pavement as they came falling down to the Earth. "*yawn* Fuck... watching you fight is making me tired- *belch* tired." Razz had drunkenly started leaning back on his elbows, counting the amount of brain and skull fragments that'd go into the air each time "Mitch" punched something with his robot arm. "Mitch" chuckled, "I ain't *pant* even breaking a sweat!"

"Mitch" had floored the last zombie. With it's splatter slowing spreading out all over the overpass, the blood leaking from it's head slowly streaming its way down the overpass and into the road it dipped into. With that, the two best friends, their new-found duffel-bags full of beer; started their long trek back to the "studio".

Utterly Mad

News:

Author Topic: Neon Apocalypse: Tales of Neon Lights, A Coke'd Out Director, and His Crew (Read 1069 times)

ajwilli1

Re: Neon Apocalypse: Tales of Neon Lights, A Coke'd Out Director, and His Crew