Lightning by S. E. Gutierrez (the best books of all time TXT) 📕

I watched as the sky opened its big, grey jaws and water gushed from the ever darkening clouds. The heavens growled with angry thunder, and shook with livid lightening. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my drenched hoodie. I listened to the furious sound of water slapping the broken pavement. I glared at the black clouds.

"Is this really all you've got?!" I shouted. "Is this it?!"

The clouds rumbled, as if chuckling at my anger. I kicked at the gathering water, as hateful tears coursed down my face. I knew he was up there. I knew he was causing this. I knew he wanted me to suffer. I tore my hands out of my pockets, and angrily ran them through my soaked hair. Every part of me was wet and shivering. I didn't care. I needed space. I needed to think. I kicked at the water again, stomping through the gigantic puddles.

The sky was darker still. I watched as jagged lightening burned itself into the sky. I was outside of the town -- if you could call it that -- in the abandoned city. After the Last Attempt, everything seemed to break all at the same time. Roads crumbled, buildings fell, whole cities collapsed. I still remembered a time when everything was simple. It was a time when things were easy, travel was allowed, families prospered, governments were run by the people, not selfish, corrupt, idiotic politicians.

I started to calm myself, and combed through my hair with my fingers. I tied my hair into a pony-tail. My choppy bangs clung to the sides of my face, and hung by my chin. I unzipped my hoodie, and scraped it off. I tied it around my waist, and stomped onward. I came across a crumbling apartment building, and plopped down on the stairs under an awning. I folded my arms across my chest, and scowled at nothing. I laughed bitterly to myself. The once great New York City was nothing but abandoned buildings and crumbling cement.

Life was bleak. There was no happiness, no anger, no emotion at all. Everything was dull. There was color everywhere, but none of it seemed real, and all of it was coated in a barely visible layer of grey dust. I kicked at the gravel road. I remembered when New York was bright, and trendy, and full of people trying to make their mark, now it was a bunch of broken people living in broken houses, on broken streets. I had seen postcards from back in the day when neon signs actually worked, and the city had a nightlife. Now, as soon as the sun fell below the horizon, seeming to die, the town died with it. We all crumbled with the buildings, and fell with the used-to-be skyscrapers. I didn't want to die, to crumble, to fall. I wanted to go back in time, and warn everyone, tell them what was going to happen, find a way to stop the Fall. 

I kicked at the gravel, and stuffed my hands into the pockets of my hoodie. It was a dark grey, and the sleeves and hood were lined with faux fur. I looked down at my ragged tennis shoes. They were the oldest available style of Converse. Most Converse now had pointed, long studs, or metallic crap glued to the side. Mine were a plain navy blue with creme accents. They were nice, and old-fashioned looking, but they were normal.I passed a few kids bouncing about, and dawdling at the rickety old park. Parks were the only place with grass, real live grass. Most other places just had faux grass. Parks were also the only place that had real plants. Everybody else had faux plants. In reality, parks were the only real places left in New York.

I stopped in the old book store. The books were yellow-brown, dusty, and antiquated, but a good book will always be a good book. I bent down to look at a new edition to Mr. Gordon's fabulous collection. I stood up, and waved to Mr. Gordon. He was old, and hunched, and grandfatherly. He was the closest thing I had to a friend. He put up with my pouting, moody, angry teenage girl attitude, and always looked after me. He smiled at me, and went back to his work.

I wandered around the shelves, running my hand across the spines of the books. I swept my hair up into its usual slightly messy pony-tail, and shoved my jagged bangs out of my face. I picked up an old book with a sticker on the front declaring it a New York Times Best Seller. I didn't know what that meant, but in the world of make-believe, it was probably a good thing. I leafed through the aged pages, skimming over the words. I decided to try it out, hoping it'd be good, and entertain me for a while. I went to Mr. Gordon's check out station. a.k.a. his desk, and paid for it. We made small talk for a few minutes, then he got back to work, and I left, the chimes dinging after me.

As soon as the door closed behind me, the comforting warmth of the shop was whipped away by the chilling winter air. I zipped my hoodie up, and continued my trudging. I was headed for the abandoned New York City. It was my haven. My safe place. Everything that hurt me was nonexistent when I was surrounded by the beautiful crumbling buildings. They were my closest confidants.

I was getting close to the town boundaries, and could see the wimpy little watch tower. It stood alone at the edge of town, its spire just barely peeking over the miniature forest planted a few years ago. There would be guards there. Most of them knew me, let me pass with nothing but a "Hey Syl." and a wave. Every now and again, there would be a new guard, and I'd have to show my papers, but the older guards usually gave me a heads up when that was happening.

I approached the tower and the guard, Jimmy. He was more formal than the rest, still new to the job, still getting used to my comings and goings.

"Sylverlinn" he said, nodding his head.

"Jimbo." I replied, smirking.

He was a few years older than I was, and I tried my best to get on his nerves. I had a feeling that after a while he'd lighten up, and we'd even be friends. Most of the guards had warmed up to me pretty quick, but Jimmy Boy was a hard rock to crack.

I continued on my way to City, as most of the people called New York City, and picked my way across the broken sidewalk.

The sidewalks grew more and more treacherous the farther away I got from the town, Daxon. Whole slabs of concrete were missing, and enormous roots tore away the weak cement. I slipped on a crumbling piece of sidewalk, and landed hard on my side. I harrumphed and pushed myself up, dusting off my jeans. I picked my way across a grey field of rubble. I hated the walk to City. It was cold, and crumbly, and hard. Every step could be the wrong one. I slipped several more times, and by the time I got to my destination, my pants were covered in a fine powder.

I found a crumbling office building. The inside was nothing but ransacked cubicles with desecrated walls and dividers. I shivered at the thought. Places like City were dangerous. Places like City were full of bloodthirsty gangs, and assassins. Places like City could kill you.

I finally made it to where I wanted to be. It was an apartment building just like the rest. The only difference was that in this one, there was a small music studio on the first floor. This was my haven. When people left City, they left the place a wreck, but someone had enough respect for music to meticulously place cellos, flutes, violins, guitars, trumpets, and horns in their proper cases, and left enough cleaning supplies to last for a millennium. There was also stuff set up like what I imagine would be in an old recording studio. Some of it still worked, but most of the wires were old and flaky. I tapped the microphone, it was off. I flipped the switch, and tested it again. A quiet boom flew through the room. It was actually on today. I picked up a beautiful Yamaha violin. The old polished wood felt silky smooth under my chin. I grabbed the bow, tapped the mic one more time, and played an intro. I let my ethereal music fill the room. It was my own piece, and had a voice and piano accompaniment. I recorded the violin part, then the piano part. I played them together, and let the airy tones fill my ears and flow around me. I let myself be consumed by the music.

I heard a ear piercing crack. I heard loud crumbling. I quickly and deftly cleaned and packed the instruments. I shut off all the electronics and ran out of the room. I looked out a window in the main office. What I saw terrified me.


The upper floors were tilting and falling. Wavering high above my head, I saw parts of the building crash into the concrete below. The top few floors would be gone in a matter of seconds. Apparently I overestimated the time frame. The top floors came crashing down. The glass blew in the office. I screamed and ducked under a table. The horrible sound of building crashing into building echoed in my head. More than the first few floors fell. I ran out of the office, and dashed into the studio. I stayed in there until the crashing stopped. I was shaking, and cut from broken glass and exploding windows. I crawled across the floor, and opened the door. I walked out into the lobby, and crunched across a shimmering field of broken glass.

I hopped through a window with nothing but a shard of glass still clinging to its frame. As soon as my foot hit the concrete, an eerie creaking sound