- Beranda
- Stories from the Heart
POST-2019 APOCALYPSE
...
TS
prabusilitwangi
POST-2019 APOCALYPSE
Started as an "iseng-iseng" story in my facebook wall post, back in 2017. It was originally written with Pilkada DKI 2017 as the background, but later changed to the upcoming Pemilu 2019. Later, I find it hard to stop 
, and kept writing ever since...
Warning : This fictional story may contain violence and sensitive issues, such as political, racial, and/or religious
Note : This is a work of fiction. Names, places, events are either the product of author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental. Author has no affiliation with any media, political parties nor their support groups.
INDEX :
<<<< POST-2019 APOCALYPSE, EPISODE ONE >>>>>
... Day 700 after the war. I was scavenging for weapons and supplies from a place used to be a mini-market. During the war, this place was used as a hideout from one of the survivors group. Militants from both opposing sides were using mostly melee weapons or home-made bombs, but if you're lucky, you may find some firearms lying around...
Didn't find any guns or bullets, but I was lucky to find a cabinet filled with instant noodles. Ahh.. the only edible food from the era before the war. Back then, my only problem was deciding where I will have lunch during office breaks. Now my problem is to make sure nobody sneaks in and stabs me from behind while I'm having my lunch. This morning I had to kill 3 youngsters trying to steal my breakfast. I even resisted the urge to impale one of them in front of my bunker, as a deterrent to other thieves...
I broke open one of the noodle package, and sprinkled the seasoning on top the uncooked noodle, and eat it raw. Did all those while my left hand still ready on the trigger, just in case this was an ambush. But after a while, I decided to put my gun down, and enjoy my food with both hands, while my mind wandered to the comfort life before this cursed war, or as we survivors called it: The Post-Election Apocalypse...
<<<< POST-2019 APOCALYPSE, EPISODE TWO >>>>>
I didn't even remember who won the presidential election, or should I say, the dreadful event that led to this war. I only remember that the losing side didn't accept their defeat, and started a violent nationwide protests. The winning side also responded in such a non-peaceful manner as well. Things got escalated beyond control, and like a chain reaction, we eventually ended up in one of the most brutal war in the history of man. Both sides were so deeply fanatical to whom they voted for, and thought that the other side must be somewhat brainwashed....
Why did I survive the war?
Probably because I was a neutral (a "golput" as they said).
Probably because of my 'not-so-bad' survival skill.
Probably because I wasn't near the ground zero when the nuclear exploded.
Probably because my choice of ride got me fast enough to escape some conflict zones.
Probably because my past eating habit somehow caused my body to develop immunity to all those chemical weapons.
Or probably it was just luck....
... But like they say, luck will eventually runs out. I opened my shotgun ammo pouch, and counted my remaining luck. Seven buckshot shells in the pouch, and two in the gun itself. That should be enough luck for the time being...
--- Continued in Episode Three ---
, and kept writing ever since...Warning : This fictional story may contain violence and sensitive issues, such as political, racial, and/or religious
Note : This is a work of fiction. Names, places, events are either the product of author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental. Author has no affiliation with any media, political parties nor their support groups.
INDEX :
Spoiler for "index":
<<<< POST-2019 APOCALYPSE, EPISODE ONE >>>>>
... Day 700 after the war. I was scavenging for weapons and supplies from a place used to be a mini-market. During the war, this place was used as a hideout from one of the survivors group. Militants from both opposing sides were using mostly melee weapons or home-made bombs, but if you're lucky, you may find some firearms lying around...
Didn't find any guns or bullets, but I was lucky to find a cabinet filled with instant noodles. Ahh.. the only edible food from the era before the war. Back then, my only problem was deciding where I will have lunch during office breaks. Now my problem is to make sure nobody sneaks in and stabs me from behind while I'm having my lunch. This morning I had to kill 3 youngsters trying to steal my breakfast. I even resisted the urge to impale one of them in front of my bunker, as a deterrent to other thieves...
I broke open one of the noodle package, and sprinkled the seasoning on top the uncooked noodle, and eat it raw. Did all those while my left hand still ready on the trigger, just in case this was an ambush. But after a while, I decided to put my gun down, and enjoy my food with both hands, while my mind wandered to the comfort life before this cursed war, or as we survivors called it: The Post-Election Apocalypse...
<<<< POST-2019 APOCALYPSE, EPISODE TWO >>>>>
I didn't even remember who won the presidential election, or should I say, the dreadful event that led to this war. I only remember that the losing side didn't accept their defeat, and started a violent nationwide protests. The winning side also responded in such a non-peaceful manner as well. Things got escalated beyond control, and like a chain reaction, we eventually ended up in one of the most brutal war in the history of man. Both sides were so deeply fanatical to whom they voted for, and thought that the other side must be somewhat brainwashed....
Why did I survive the war?
Probably because I was a neutral (a "golput" as they said).
Probably because of my 'not-so-bad' survival skill.
Probably because I wasn't near the ground zero when the nuclear exploded.
Probably because my choice of ride got me fast enough to escape some conflict zones.
Probably because my past eating habit somehow caused my body to develop immunity to all those chemical weapons.
Or probably it was just luck....
... But like they say, luck will eventually runs out. I opened my shotgun ammo pouch, and counted my remaining luck. Seven buckshot shells in the pouch, and two in the gun itself. That should be enough luck for the time being...
--- Continued in Episode Three ---
Diubah oleh prabusilitwangi 05-02-2019 17:48
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prabusilitwangi
#3
= Previously on Post-2019 Apocalypse =
--------------------------------------------
... The presidential election on 2019 caused the entire nation divided. Differences in political views escalated quickly, and a huge-scale civil war ensued between both sides not long after. Brothers against brothers, friends against friends, co-workers against co-workers. Destruction. Riot. Bloodbath. Massacre... It was no longer about who was right, but who was left...
... which is only a few. This is the story of those who lived through the war, the story of the survivors...
--------------------------------------------
<<<<<Episode Five>>>>>
"How is the progress for the report?"
"Send the analysis by tonight"
"The customer need the national assessment this Friday"
"Don't leave the office before it is done"
"You need to work this weekend"
*The software is not responding*
"NOOOOOOO !!!!!"
... Mojo woke up suddenly. Drenched in sweat, fast breathing, shotgun aimed forward.... at nothing....
... Just a nightmare, he said to himself. He put his twin-barrel Stoeger back beside the mattress.
Where am I? How did I get here? His mind slowly returned back to reality. When he had completely awaken, he remembered that he spent the night at a medical camp. After taking some rest and gather enough supplies, they plan to drive South that morning...
"A bad dream about the war?"
A woman came in, bringing a cup of coffee on a tray. She seemed like a nurse of that medical camp. Mojo estimated her age to be between forty to fifty. She put the tray on the table.
Mojo stared at the coffee, wondering why they still have such things, as every places out there have been pillaged empty. Even some people would kill each other for things like sugar and chilli sauce...
"Uhh.. yeah, the war...", answered Mojo.
"Sorry to bother...", she said, with a thick Central-Javanese accent. "But I heard you and Mister Rifanzo killed many of those, umm, 'things', yesterday...", she referred to the mutant zombies Mojo and Rifle Rifanzo encountered the day before.
"Any chance these kids were among them?", she took her cellphone out, and showed Mojo one of her social media pictures. It was her and two teenage boys. Most likely her sons.
Mojo took the phone from her hand and observed the photo. "This was taken two years ago, yes?", as he checked the timestamp.
The nurse nodded.
"I'm sorry, but none of the attackers were about their age...", Mojo returned her cellphone.
She tried her best to hide her dissapointment, but emotions couldn't lie. Mojo understood what she felt. She was one of the many victims of this dreadful war. The war not only took casualties from either side of the presidential candidate supporters, but also the neutrals (the "golputs" as we called it) as well. The police and the military made things worse. And now these new 'zombie' phenomena is like the answer to the rhetorical "Can things get any f*ckin' worse..."
The era of internet and the freedom of social media caused everyone to be self-proclaimed socio-political analysts. Enthusiastic debates were common during office breaks, family gatherings, in online forums, chat groups, etc. Some say it was purely political, others say religions were involved. Either sides thought they were the smart ones, and looked down upon those whose views were not aligned with them. Soon, debates turned into fistfights, protests turned into riots, and stone-throwing turned into shootings..
Mojo started to re-think whether his decisions to be neutral was the right choice. Maybe if all golputs decided to pick a side together, the balance of power will be shifted, and maybe the war could ended sooner, he thought. Or maybe if only more people were neutrals, such conflict would never had happened...
Still, "rice has became porridge", they say. Any theory right now wouldn't be comparable to the cup of hot coffee he was having at the moment. No sugar, but it's okay, Mojo thought. Such minor inconvenience was nothing compared to having no knowledge of your sons whereabouts...
-----
... A few minutes later, Mojo, Rifle Rifanzo, and Doctor Eriksen gathered in the main room discussing their plans.
"How's the coffee?", asked Eriksen to Mojo. "Don't expect much by the way. During the early phase of the conflict, dead bodies were everywhere. Households put coffee powder in every corner to neutralize the odor. After they are gone, the coffee have no use anymore, so we collect them..."
Mojo wasn't surprised. Desperate times desperate measures. Just yesterday he ate some expired instant noodles...
"It is safe though, I guess... I even think that maybe it can boost your immunity...", Eriksen continued.
"Ahem, about the plan...", Rifle interrupted. "Bad news. The temporary government has announced a nationwide 24 hours odd-even plate number policy. The SUV isn't allowed to go anywhere, no other cars around the camp that we can use..."
"So we go tomorrow....", said Mojo.
"Today is 31st, tomorrow is 1st. The SUV plate is even number...", replied Rifle. "So we stuck here for at least two days."
"Even worse, it won't be a cop who stop you", Eriksen added. "They put unmanned sentry guns on every main roads and intersections. 30mm Gatling autocannons. Even if we fortify the SUV's armor, those things will still do you nicely..."
"Yeah, I've heard it also", said Mojo. "The machine guns are based on sensors which automatically detect traffic violations. If only they implemented it before the war, it can be very useful to decrease population, thus solving traffic jams. I hear people call those guns the 'Good-Afternoon-Sir' guns..."
"Good-afternoon-sir? The f*ck does that mean?", asked Rifle.
"You'll know when you see it...", answered Mojo. "Anyway I saw some old motorcycles in the parking lot. Two-wheels aren't affected by the policy, right?"
"Yes, but those things won't run...", said Eriksen.
"I'll look into it then..." Mojo headed to the parking lot.
"Another thing, my team just salvaged some bolt-action rifles, but none of these doctors and nurses know how to use 'em. They probably need some training to defend themselves..." Eriksen looked at Rifanzo.
"Yeah, I'll see what I can do...", Rifanzo went to check the guns.
... Meanwhile in the parking lot, Mojo saw an old Yamaha RX-King, a Honda GL-Pro, and two Honda CS-One. Mostly still in good condition, just need to replace the battery, sparkplug, change the oil, refuel, and patch some tires. He went to check the garage for any spareparts and tools.
"Well I'll be damned...", said Mojo when he found something else while looking for tools...
-to be continued to episode six-
-thanks for reading 😊-
--------------------------------------------
... The presidential election on 2019 caused the entire nation divided. Differences in political views escalated quickly, and a huge-scale civil war ensued between both sides not long after. Brothers against brothers, friends against friends, co-workers against co-workers. Destruction. Riot. Bloodbath. Massacre... It was no longer about who was right, but who was left...
... which is only a few. This is the story of those who lived through the war, the story of the survivors...
--------------------------------------------
<<<<<Episode Five>>>>>
"How is the progress for the report?"
"Send the analysis by tonight"
"The customer need the national assessment this Friday"
"Don't leave the office before it is done"
"You need to work this weekend"
*The software is not responding*
"NOOOOOOO !!!!!"
... Mojo woke up suddenly. Drenched in sweat, fast breathing, shotgun aimed forward.... at nothing....
... Just a nightmare, he said to himself. He put his twin-barrel Stoeger back beside the mattress.
Where am I? How did I get here? His mind slowly returned back to reality. When he had completely awaken, he remembered that he spent the night at a medical camp. After taking some rest and gather enough supplies, they plan to drive South that morning...
"A bad dream about the war?"
A woman came in, bringing a cup of coffee on a tray. She seemed like a nurse of that medical camp. Mojo estimated her age to be between forty to fifty. She put the tray on the table.
Mojo stared at the coffee, wondering why they still have such things, as every places out there have been pillaged empty. Even some people would kill each other for things like sugar and chilli sauce...
"Uhh.. yeah, the war...", answered Mojo.
"Sorry to bother...", she said, with a thick Central-Javanese accent. "But I heard you and Mister Rifanzo killed many of those, umm, 'things', yesterday...", she referred to the mutant zombies Mojo and Rifle Rifanzo encountered the day before.
"Any chance these kids were among them?", she took her cellphone out, and showed Mojo one of her social media pictures. It was her and two teenage boys. Most likely her sons.
Mojo took the phone from her hand and observed the photo. "This was taken two years ago, yes?", as he checked the timestamp.
The nurse nodded.
"I'm sorry, but none of the attackers were about their age...", Mojo returned her cellphone.
She tried her best to hide her dissapointment, but emotions couldn't lie. Mojo understood what she felt. She was one of the many victims of this dreadful war. The war not only took casualties from either side of the presidential candidate supporters, but also the neutrals (the "golputs" as we called it) as well. The police and the military made things worse. And now these new 'zombie' phenomena is like the answer to the rhetorical "Can things get any f*ckin' worse..."
The era of internet and the freedom of social media caused everyone to be self-proclaimed socio-political analysts. Enthusiastic debates were common during office breaks, family gatherings, in online forums, chat groups, etc. Some say it was purely political, others say religions were involved. Either sides thought they were the smart ones, and looked down upon those whose views were not aligned with them. Soon, debates turned into fistfights, protests turned into riots, and stone-throwing turned into shootings..
Mojo started to re-think whether his decisions to be neutral was the right choice. Maybe if all golputs decided to pick a side together, the balance of power will be shifted, and maybe the war could ended sooner, he thought. Or maybe if only more people were neutrals, such conflict would never had happened...
Still, "rice has became porridge", they say. Any theory right now wouldn't be comparable to the cup of hot coffee he was having at the moment. No sugar, but it's okay, Mojo thought. Such minor inconvenience was nothing compared to having no knowledge of your sons whereabouts...
-----
... A few minutes later, Mojo, Rifle Rifanzo, and Doctor Eriksen gathered in the main room discussing their plans.
"How's the coffee?", asked Eriksen to Mojo. "Don't expect much by the way. During the early phase of the conflict, dead bodies were everywhere. Households put coffee powder in every corner to neutralize the odor. After they are gone, the coffee have no use anymore, so we collect them..."
Mojo wasn't surprised. Desperate times desperate measures. Just yesterday he ate some expired instant noodles...
"It is safe though, I guess... I even think that maybe it can boost your immunity...", Eriksen continued.
"Ahem, about the plan...", Rifle interrupted. "Bad news. The temporary government has announced a nationwide 24 hours odd-even plate number policy. The SUV isn't allowed to go anywhere, no other cars around the camp that we can use..."
"So we go tomorrow....", said Mojo.
"Today is 31st, tomorrow is 1st. The SUV plate is even number...", replied Rifle. "So we stuck here for at least two days."
"Even worse, it won't be a cop who stop you", Eriksen added. "They put unmanned sentry guns on every main roads and intersections. 30mm Gatling autocannons. Even if we fortify the SUV's armor, those things will still do you nicely..."
"Yeah, I've heard it also", said Mojo. "The machine guns are based on sensors which automatically detect traffic violations. If only they implemented it before the war, it can be very useful to decrease population, thus solving traffic jams. I hear people call those guns the 'Good-Afternoon-Sir' guns..."
"Good-afternoon-sir? The f*ck does that mean?", asked Rifle.
"You'll know when you see it...", answered Mojo. "Anyway I saw some old motorcycles in the parking lot. Two-wheels aren't affected by the policy, right?"
"Yes, but those things won't run...", said Eriksen.
"I'll look into it then..." Mojo headed to the parking lot.
"Another thing, my team just salvaged some bolt-action rifles, but none of these doctors and nurses know how to use 'em. They probably need some training to defend themselves..." Eriksen looked at Rifanzo.
"Yeah, I'll see what I can do...", Rifanzo went to check the guns.
... Meanwhile in the parking lot, Mojo saw an old Yamaha RX-King, a Honda GL-Pro, and two Honda CS-One. Mostly still in good condition, just need to replace the battery, sparkplug, change the oil, refuel, and patch some tires. He went to check the garage for any spareparts and tools.
"Well I'll be damned...", said Mojo when he found something else while looking for tools...
-to be continued to episode six-
-thanks for reading 😊-
Diubah oleh prabusilitwangi 11-12-2018 14:43
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