The beginning of the BLU.

At the start there was nothing.

Then we heard the beat.  This was a universal truth that we all held, that we still do.  It is the only thing we all hold true. Amidst the rubble and the mortar, the shadow and the neon tinted shine- we still survive. More than 50 years after the Horns sang and the world was plummeted into dust and ruin, we are still here.

The people who are old enough to remember say things like we can rebuild, it’s not too late, have some faith… 

Faith. 

Faith. 

Old man.

We don’t have it.

Can’t have it. 

This is all we have now. No one really knows how or why it happened. Said that there were reports of an attack and the city went into panic. Who fired on us? Did we attack first? Did we attack back? That fact probably isn’t important. All that matters is what happened after. The Horns. Louder than the bombs. Louder than any airstrike. The Horns played on, trying to warn the people to hide and seek shelter but there could be no shelter from the sound. Piercing and thick, permeating into every ear no matter how deep underground you sank.

Debilitating.

Darkening.

Deafening. 

Then quickly as it seemingly began, it was over. People rose, quietly, cautiously, as if any sudden movement would  All-encompassing silence now filled the void. All without memory of a time before their waking, no recollection of the bonds they lost. A new kind of pain and mourning rippled through those that remained. Tears were shed and screams unheard, until all grew tired and they fell. Together but apart, all family now in the hush.  They had tried to get out, tried to get help but whatever happened to their world left them torn apart and isolated. No one could get out, no one wanted to get in.

They were alone.  But they were alive, that was something. It had to be.