Sometimes when I’m walking down a lonely dirt road the crunch of my boots on the gravel comfort me because it means I’m moving and I’m mobile. Those little sounds tinkle into my ears and I am absorbed into a zen like state. It Doesn’t much matter to me that the world has gone to hell, because if you ask me, the world has always been hell.
My name’s Rufo and if you ask me, all this world’s cut out for, is a slow draining of your goodness till your left an animal waiting to be put down by the merciful hand of God. Your lucky if you start out good. Then the world has its way with you and if your extra sane like me, it takes chunks of you away, a little at a time until people who thought they knew you can’t recognize you anymore, and even your own reflection is a misery.
Yeah, the zombies roam, itching to tear out your innards and pack a lunch, but honestly, its not so bad. There’s a great comfort that comes from the mantra of shelter, water and fire repeat. Its familiar and wholesome like a mother’s hug. It keeps you going.
Its not fun to run into bandits, but it is fun when you can get the drop on them or maybe save a group from being waylayed. Those who you save look at you like your a savior and it is impossible for them to see your inner damages because the sunlight after salvation is too bright and too warm. Society crumbling was the best thing that ever happened to a piece of crap like me. Anarchists aren’t really built to thrive in polite-savage society. I had nothing to offer ultimately, but mistake after mistake. When the shit house went to flame I was given a new chance. I don’t deserve it, but hear it is. God is good.