figs and maps

The layer of mud had gotten so out of hand, her boots cracked deep and dark with every step she took across the industrial landscape. The floods had finally receeded, after a five week storm had drown most of the winter landscape in warm waters. Communication with folks further than 100 miles was difficult, at best, with the technology interruption that mysteriously happened in the middle of the storm. There’s some that suggest it was a strategic move by the political leadership to further plunge the nation into divided chaos. It sure felt like chaos. The stores have been shut for 2 weeks now, having emptied their shelves by the third week in disbelief. The Government shipped crates of goods by drones, as the only major route open was currently under 6 ft of floodwater. The American flag painted on the sides of the relief boxes were easy to spot against the dark skies. Though the water had stopped falling, temporarily, the cold wet air stayed.  Many of the population were sick.  Suddenly, a memory flitted through her mind of a hot July evening she was eating golden figs through the alleyway of a rundown suburb. “This fucking sucks.” Karina scowled, pulling her coat tighter around her. She pulled the map out of her pocket. “Thank goodness I had the foresight to order this before everything went south. I just hope it is still accurate enough.” She muttered to herself.





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