My Personal Creative Outlet

The Ballad of Juniper Watson

My eyes hurt.

She heaved the tall backpack off her shoulders, letting it fall to the cement with a whump. She opened the frayed zipper and dug through the contents, until her finger-less glove brushed up against the familiar nylon hammock. The motions of securing the straps around the rubble was mechanical to her, as was most things for her.

My legs hurt.

Minutes later, she had her makeshift camp set up. It wasn't much to set up. There was the hammock, the lantern she'd painted blue, rations, compound bow, her rag-of-a-blanket, and. . . oh, her stuffed elephant. The large, floppy ears were tearing at the seams, so she'd decided those were to be the first things to mend if she'd ever found a sewing kit.

I'm hungry.

She counted out her rations; two cans of Spaghetti-o's, one can of cream of mushroom, three chili-flavored Top Ramen packs, and one partially nibbled chocolate protein bar. She was going to have to find an abandoned store sometime in the next three days or she'd have to start cutting back to one meal a day. Most stores had been ransacked already, but sometimes, not very often, a few cans of peaches or corn were dropped and forgotten. Her stomach growled. She did feel hungry, but it might be possible to miss tonight's supper and stretch the food a little longer.

She grabbed her compound bow and arrows, hooking it onto a strap on her back she'd made from duct tape and a stick. Judging from the rusted metal and cars, she was camped on a long bridge that had long since been in use. Maybe there was a town or city nearby.

Trees and flowers punched through the asphalt, giving off a sort of whimsical feel as she walked. She vaulted over a concrete divider and gripped the metal support beams.

Carefully as she dared, she began to scale the supports all the way to the top of the bridge's summit. Only twice did she nearly fall; once because a cable had broken off when she put her weight on it, and twice because she'd startled a gull from it's nest. There weren't any eggs in the nest, unfortunately. A single egg would have plenty of protein and calories to make a meal for her.

My arms hurt.

Arms shaking, knees trembling, she pulled herself up onto the platform at the very apex of the supports. She sat down, unlacing her heavy boots and swinging her bare feet over oblivion. Cool, moist, evening wind blew back her hood, rustling her short, red hair. She let it. It'd been a long day of walking along the riverbank. The river wasn't entirely dried up; it'd been diverted a long time ago- before she was born, even.

This bridge must have been used right up until it was useless because she could see cars and trucks, all mutilated with time, scattered across the road. A semi-truck had a tree invading its cab, raising it off the ground at an odd angle. It gave it a sort of goofy face with the broken windshield.

She saw faces in almost everything; a can with a peeling label might have looked like a mischievous grin, crumbling buildings had wide, gaping maws for mouths, but cars and trucks especially had dead, grayed out eyes and broken smiles

The sky was crimson and purple with the setting sun. Her eyes squinted against the fading light. It was a sight she'd seen several times though a subway tunnel, a cracked window pane, and the foliage of the forest. It was almost always the same. And every time, she would stare at it until it was gone. To her left was a jungle of skyscrapers, some still erect and others humped over each other in a mess of glass and metal. To her right, the arid riverbed creeped under dilapidated bridges until it slipped out of sight under the ocean.

I'm thirsty.

She took a flute she'd made from a PVC pipe from the inside pocket of her patched jacket. There was almost always someone within earshot of it, so she might as well find out who.