Risen from a frozen tomb,
Into the wastes and Boston.
Steadily, I journey home,
To find it all in ruin.
The land is scarred and broken.
The Atom Bomb had fallen.
Two-hundred years have passed since then,
But none have since forgotten.
Monstrosities of radiation,
Strange and deadly adaptations,
Raiders, seeking gear and caps,
Are likely confrontations.
Decisions here are life or death;
The wasteland, unforgiving.
As long as I keep drawing breath,
My goal must be surviving.
While I traverse a digital representation of a post-apocalyptic wasteland, I can’t help but contemplate what could be our distant future. Putting aside what tragic events led to the fall of our civilizations, I could only focus on the aftermath. The land is scarred and barren; ruins of the previous dwellers serving as the only reminders of our once great cities. Miraculously, though, one other precious piece of history was preserved. Music.
The scratchy, imperfect recordings of then-famous musicians bring a stark contrast to the somber decay of the wasteland. Hearing them sing of their woes and delights of a time long passed, I journey through this forlorn wilderness of debris and death.
Bedsforth 