#1.5 - After The Storm

Nathan woke up with a blurry start, his head heaving and his stomach unwell. It took him a while to remember he had spent hours at Scran & Scullies, a bar for amateur bartenders and heavy drinks to heave your mind to the ground. He stumbled to the sink and leaned down to drink water before vomiting out his hangover.

The radio was still buzzing, the air of the room sized building off of the speakeasy seeming to be cold and wet. He was still on time with his rent of the place, though the speakeasy's boss didn't really like the idea of him lingering.

"There really is a nice place- that Meridian. I know you don't like heights but it's not like you can't be on the first or second floor I suspect. It's really is nice," he said as Nathan read the newspaper at the bar.
"Let me drink your drinks."
"You always go for that Scran & Scullies."
"Do I now? I don't remember going at all," he puzzled.
"You trotted out of here into the flurry at four and wasn't back till eight or nine. Your clothes were awful smelling- like some mold leeched onto you."
"Your drinks are too soft."

By midday, a great desire for burgers overtook him. He wandered from that one end of town to the other, stopping in front of Dan's Diner. The place was of average style, but the service made it great. The waitresses were all good, though his favorite was Rosalind.
"And what'll ya have today, mister?"
"A burger with American cheese and the double order of fries," he turned to fully face her as he had done many times before. "Have you gotten the chance to read some Fitzgerald?"
"I haven't, sorry. Though, when I do get the chance it shouldn't take long. I'm quick at reading."
"What have you read?"
"Again, I've just read many poems and short stories is all... most recently, anyway. Nathaniel Hawthorne, some of Edger Allen Poe's stuff, and that new writer out from Winthrop Place."
"You are well read aren't you?"
"I suppose I am," she said cheerily, before walking off to the kitchen.

Following the filling lunch, he came to stop at the public library, the 'b' slightly leaning to it's side as if it was going to fall someday soon. It was a calming place in the yellow dimmed lights. There were always many people sitting around and reading, and most he came to enjoy the company of, save for Owlen and Jane, two separate people cut from the same cold stone. Owlen would mutter whenever Nathan read anything later than 1861 or even the times before then. Jane, would glance at him time and time again, seeming to scold the simple covers of his books. The librarian, Riley Timbertteran, said that those two people had been there just as long as she had, though she never got much of a peep out of them.

By the dusk's early lights, Nathan was back again in the small compartment and sitting on his bed. The jazz music station had been changed to an early rock band, and it no longer crackled. Just when he was about to shut his eyes for the night, there came knocks at his door; three to be precise, one second intervals between them.

#1 - In The Storm

The day started with Nathan shooting a dart in the bar striking the bullseye. A few bystanders cheered him, one raising his refilled jug of the local ale. He smiled lightly and waved the appreciation. There was a long rumbling storm outside, and it seemed to have carried on for days at this point, changing from a bland and moody person moping around, to a roaring wave striking steel and starting flames.

The power went out at seven, the whole day seeming like the blackness of midnight. The boom of the thunder was mute to his ears, far away from any energy of a cheering crowd or a crying woman. Nathan left the establishment in the slow and somber flurry of people that had been captured for a week at this point, for all he knew.

His blazer was getting soaked through, seeping his button-up shirt. Though his hands were cold and his feet were sloshy, he didn't mind it at all, making his way down the street. There was general trash and debris flowing throughout the town, going down the drains and piling in the corners. He then saw an old poster of his, one where he and his wife were standing proudly together; the idea of leading the state still fresh in their minds. He had figured all things of that nature had already been washed away.

He entered the small building he was renting out, placing his wet clothes on the floor of the tiny compartment for his laundry. He turned the radio to life, and the tunes of a sappy jazz band filled the air and invaded the soft thumping of the storm outside. The radio crackled and popped, the signal weak in such a madness of water and cold air. He, half content, sat on the bed and listened. There was very little to go on in his days now, different from all the storms that had been on the sunny and shiny days from what seems a dozen years ago.