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Junk World 2.0
Fall Of Magic
edited June 2014
Some time has passed since Merrell was defeated and Hadden's family was rescued. Chi-Town has evolved and life has continued.
What has happened to each of you? What do we see as we approach the end credits of the movie version of this story?
edited June 2014
"You're so full of shit!"
The young man called as he followed his big sister through the slushy South 43rd Street,
"Skystorms are up in the sky! How are they supposed to make shit dance down here on ground? Dad said they were ghosts!"
He stumbled over something in the thawing ice, and pressed on without giving it a second though.
The little girl, barely a woman in her own right, spun around on her heels and shrugged playfully,
"you believe everything Dad says? You believe a penguin ate his toes?"
A gust of warm wind blew through her dirty-blonde hair, and she spun back around to pick up the pace. Her down-filled black parka trailed behind her, bouncing gently as she skipped through a puddle.
"C'mon, it's not much farther! Do you wanna see it or
The young man narrowed his eyes into angry little slits, and crossed his arms defensively, but he followed. She was only about a year his senior, but she would never let him forget it. He didn't share in his sister's carefree nature, and it didn't help that this street still held the strong stigma of being "gang territory" — even if no gang had operated here in years.
"I don't know why you listen to that grouchy old lady..."
The girl skipped a few more steps, then stopped to examine some numbers on a scraper that towered above all the others she'd ever climbed... They had arrived. She turned back to face her young brother, excitement burning in her eyes — something her brother was all too familiar with —
"are you kidding me?"
You just hate her 'cause she thinks you're a wuss. Now c'mon!"
She pushed open the large glass doors of the scraper, and quickly darted for the stairwell at the opposite end of the lobby.
He shouted defensively as he followed her in,
"she's just mean!"
His voice echoed off the cold marble tiles lining the walls, and he stopped just past the door frame into the stairwell...
"That's a long way up,"
he called to her, as she was already bounding up the stairs,
"you sure this is the place?"
He knew it was.
The climb was grueling, and the wind coming in from the outside howled loudly. He couldn't be more relieved to see the door marked "10", and he pushed it open with such force that it slammed against the hard concrete wall behind it, revealing a small hallway with a snaking trail of blood down the middle of it — at the end of it, was an open door. His sister's eyes widened, and she ran straight down the hall, through the door to the window to gape at the view her climb had rewarded her with... The young man, however, stood paralyzed at the door.
It was a small eternity before she finally turned back and said,
"well... Aren't you going to look around?"
He shook his head.
she sighed, as she went to retrieve him,
"you came all this way... You've got to at least
She pulled him by the arm into the long-abandoned home... It featured a hollowed out couch with a hatchet in the arm, a blood-stained mattress, a small fire pit, and a balcony. Cans of long emptied food were scattered about in the kitchen, and the bedroom was filled with scrap for burning. She pointed at the mattress, and whispered,
"Mom said they found you out in the hall with
The young man took a few cautious steps towards the bed, and ran his fingers along the worn cloth... If they
found him here, he didn't remember it. He took his hand off the bed, and bashfully pleaded,
"can we go?"
She sighed, and shook her head... Maybe he wasn't ready for the trek, like Poppy said. Maybe Dad was wrong... Either way, she reached into her coat pocket, and produced a small, blood stained envelope with their Father's name on it.
"Dad gave me this."
She shoved it in his hands, and after three rejections, he finally took it.
A knot formed in his stomach as he held the dried out paper in his hands... Something about it drowned him in a flood of emotion, and he stood there motionless for the longest time before carefully fumbling to open it. He knew his mother had left his father before knowing she was pregnant with him. He knew his Dad and Poppy had come out that fateful night, when his dad suspected the worst —
"just like she'd done for me, so many times before,"
he'd say. Women died in childbirth — that was simply the way of things. He still couldn't shake the sadness he felt from never meeting his real mother. Learning about her from rumors, and opinions — most of which conflicting. Being in that room, and holding that note, was the closest he'd ever come to really being with her.
Inside the envelope was a single sheet of paper, the sight of which sent a chill down his spine... He can recite its contents from memory to this very day.
please forgive me. I love you both. -Raphaella
He stood there for a moment, taking it all in, until his sister said,
"Ross? C'mon... Let's go home."
edited June 2014
The camera is following a battered minitruck zooming across the frozen surface of Lake Michigan. Even at this distance, it's obvious that the truck is far from factory original. It's rigged up with mismatched treads, a radio beacon on a large whip antenna, a small MG turret, and a passenger/cargo area plastered with solar panels. There's faint music coming from it, but we can't hear it clearly over the steady
crunch crunch crunch
of the treads. Something with guitars and trumpets and drums, something you could dance to.
We zoom in to see the lone occupant, casually making small adjustments to the steering wheel with one hand and tapping along to the music with the other, stretched out over the passenger seat. Is that a little black bag in the seat? No matter, we want to see the driver. He's a good-looking fellow, aging well, his face full of smile and worry lines, a little like a well-worn glove. He's still got his hair, but there's flashes of silver in the warm brown. He's bundled up comfortably, hos clothes cleanish but not luxe. There's a bit of amusement and anticipation in his demeanor, but it's hard to pin down exactly what he's thinking. A trick of the sunlight suddenly glints off a katana with a braided black-and-white handle in the gun rack, throwing sharp bits of pale greenish light in the cabin. The driver adjusts course and flips down the sun visor in a practiced, casual, fluid motion.
The visor draws our camera's attention- there are two drawings there. One is a fairly well-done scene of a lava pool and beach frolickers, complete with volleyball net and bikinis. Words above it, in a campy postcard style, read "Welcome To Soldier's Field Beach Resort." The other is a more childish hand, older, with a number of figures. Our driver is there, large and smiling. One figure has long purple hair and looks bright blue. Another figure has short, dark hair, and looks inhumanly fat-bellied with something inside it. There are other figures, too. Its words say "I LOV MAMMMA AND MOM AND DADY" and has more scribbles after that.
The driver glances up at the drawings, his face splitting in a broad, peaceful, satisfied smile, eyes distant. A moment later, there's a loud crunch and his eyes are wide yet suddenly focused, both hands on the wheel, completely in control and guiding the minitruck up a ramp off the lake and onto a street.
There's a tank here. It's an actual mechanized battle platform, the turret tracking the minitruck as it brakes, the huge diesel engine roar dwarfing the smaller vehicle. Our camera flips in a quick reverse shot to catch our driver stepping out in front of a large, clean, not entirely friendly sign that reads "WELCOME TO MILWAUKEE." Some wag has scrawled "now go away!!" beneath it.
Our driver's smile is now complicated, equal parts predatory and excited and friendly and sexy. He stands causally looking at the tank, hands in pockets like he's reading the newspaper, and shouts well-projected words to the tank. His voice is smooth and somehow charming with steel, the hallmark of a practiced orator who is used to people listening and obeying.
"Tell Kemper it's Hadden."
The smile gets wider.
"She may have heard of me."
**FADE TO BLACK**
I lay there quiet, still... eyes shut, pinned shut. I hum quietly with the music, muffled by the layers of metal and the howl of the wind, the uneven squeaks and thumps of the truck as it bounces gently... sometimes not.
For what seems like ages I lay there among the cargo, secured with nylon rope and snaps. Years worth of jingle primed for trade. I should crawl up front, scare the hell out of him likely... I laugh to myself. A little quiet snicker. Can't wait for the look on his fuckin' face... not like he's gonna turn this truck around.
But no... I wait. I gaze up at the gray sky and there's time to think... all those old wounds seem distant. It's true what I said. All I need is someone to come back to... like hell I was gonna let that get away... no fuckin' way. But I hugged him, even managed to squeeze out a tear when he said goodbye.
he said... he's got to move on... right.
The truck slows, feels like trouble. His music clicks off... is something wrong? I take a deep breath. Keep cool... keep cool... The sound of the door opening, his footsteps on the ice.
Ok, fuck it...
" I rise slowly up to an elbow to glance through the glass... I see the sign and the little message makes me laugh... well, almost laugh. And that little drawing pinned to the visor. Mammma... hits me somewhere inside.
They talk, and he calls out, that silver tongue still got fuckin' magic in it.
But by now I'm standing, arms crossed over the roof of the truck as I stand on the bed, one foot up on the edge like I own the place.
Yeah, everyone who's anyone knows Hadden!
" I shout to the fucker in the tank.... yeah, ok... I don't sound as cool as I wanna, and Hadden doesn't fuckin' need me right? Like hell he doesn't!
Hadden turns to see me and it's totally worth it to see his face... yeah you ain't fuckin' leavin' me behind.
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