Waking up, such an odd sensation. Laying there still on the edge of a dream, you remember small bits and pieces of the dream. But, this is different somehow, I don’t remember anything, my head swims uncontrollably as a sort of haze seems to fade. Sitting up proves more difficult than it should, my muscles ache as I force myself up. By the feel of it I must be laying on some sort of concrete, but I can’t seem to open my eyes. Lifting a hand to my eye lids I feel something crusted on them, whatever it is, it’s thick enough that I have to actually pick it off small pieces at a time. Finally I force my right eye open, the light is unbearable, but my vision quickly adjusts as I pick at my other eye. As the world comes into focus I start to wish I’d stayed asleep.
The sky is an ashen red, filled with streaks of smoke thickly consuming more and more of the light. Following the streaks down reveals the wasteland from which they originate. A scarred cityscape, cars and b