Post Apocalypse: Tyranny & Chimpanzees

1. EPSILON

From a legend I used to hear when I was younger, it was said to be an 'Act of God.' How it actually happened, the story had already been too distorted to contain.

But we all live in a world where the result is most evident.

Evidences of a cataclysmic event.

Pieces of stuff made from these hard shiny materials, remains of structures seemingly moulded from hard, chalk-ish sand, shredded remnants of clothing made from cotton and unknown materials, strange accessories and numerous other tools and etcetera we couldn't even comprehend, but proved even more that they were works of a more advanced society.

Most of these things were littered around the outskirts of our small community.

I say 'community,' but we're just 8 orphaned dudes living on part of an island within an archipelago, who scramble for food and relics of the past civilization, educating ourselves with what little parts of the mostly incomplete pages of books barely still existing in some dry caves.

And we'd just decided to name the place Epsilon, containing four mud huts, and a plot where we farmed root crops, tomatoes and pepper.

Our parents were all dead. Done in by some illness in their late 20's or early 30's.

And there used to be more of us too. Same circumstances.

But they were either killed by wild animals, or fatal infections from wounds, food or water.

Those of us who survived these common causes of death lived with more adapted bodies, to be done in by something another day.

The eight of us who are alive, quite frankly, have a book to thank, the only thing I inherited from my parents...

No, wait. That's someone else's story. He died. Then I got the book.

The book contained detailed information and pictures about relics, many of which I have never seen in real life. The identifiable remains, I mean.

It was very tattered, with it's back and a few dozen pages dismembered, what was left of it discolored and disheveled by moisture and fungi.

The book taught us how to farm crops and build a simple defensive structure by tying three pointed stakes into a self-supporting structure that impales anything that runs into, or unsuccessfully attempts to vault it, and line several of them to make a wall that repelled wild beasts.

Thanks to this, we could settle at a place and live a bit more comfortably. Even the herbs that save our lives from infections countless times were only known to us thanks to that book.

I always kept the frail thing wrapped in a leather sheet when I wasn't reading it, hanging by man side off a shoulder strap.

"Servile. What's up?"

"Nothing. Just in thought."

"Thinking is not going to get us food. It's our turn today, let's go, chop chop."

I wrapped the book back and obediently picked my weapons; two wooden spears and a stone knife. Boro had four spears.
He held three in his right hand, and the fourth in his left, ready to throw. He's the only left handed person I've known. I remember my mom used to say my dad was a lefty back in the days.

But no one lives past their thirties, if they even live past their twenties. My mom was no exception.

And my dad as well. He died even earlier, and I have no memory of him.

I gripped my spear tighter. I subdued the nostalgia and followed.

Boro led the way into the Forest.

It's time to hunt.