post apocalyptic

Sentry (Revised)

A small, unacknowledged, part of your heart despises the serenity, welcomes its transience, eagerly awaits the coming chaos. Before the war, in the world-that-was, you despised the cold spread of adrenaline. Now you crave the exhilaration and terror of combat, the struggle to eke out one more moment of existence.

Sentry (Original)

You perch on the side of an overturned Coles truck, carefully scanning the crumbling homes and weed-choked footpaths for any sign of movement. The air is oppressively still, the silence palpable. Almost painful. Your ears strain for any hint of life. You desire movement and you dread it.