his is written in an interesting format. Rather than chapters, I have written this in little pieces, each from the perspective of a defferent character. Any sort of critiques are welcome; this is very raw but I see some potential in it. Also, I hope no one is offended by the subject matter, it could be a little touchy.
Gabrielle Lendrayo New York City
It seemed that time slowed as the stumbled across Rockefeller Center, slow enough to grasp every horrific image and digest it until her pale cheeks were stained with tear. The massive flag pole lay on its side, rolled in a blanket and spray-painted with the words "Free America! Deport the whites!" People lay dead on the ice-less rink, bodies half rotted and too terrible to look at. The buildings were leveled or partially so, the streets littered with huge slabs of concrete and bits of shattered glass. 49th street was invisible under a huge sea of white canvas tents; the Nonconformists protecting the caucasians from the massive army of dark-skinned people.
Gabri plugged her nose with two fingers, trying to block out the aroma of death that permeated the plaza. She quickened her pace, then sprinted wildly when she saw the dark-skinned faces of two armed Revolutionists closing in on her. Panic rose in her throat and she tasted pennies as she streaked though the city towards the safe haven beneath the ground
She stumbled through the door and slammed it behind her, laying her weight against it as the big black men banged angrily, calling profanities like "redneck!" and "devilspawn!" Gabri relaxed as the went away and descended the stairs leading into the safe haven.
The room was littered with sleeping bags and the little gray ration totes provided by the Caucasian Association of America. People lounged on whatever furniture could be salvaged from their torched homes, or whispered in small groups; no one noticed Gabri as she made her way to her sleeping bag and tote bag. Everything here smelled of death:the people who longed for its release, the singed furniture that brough it in from the outside and the walls that seeped the stench in from above ground. Gabri buried her nose in the sleeping bag, breathing in the welcome smell of herself.
"Are you okay?"
Gabri rolled over and looked up into the earnest brown eyes of her twin, the brave and gentle Shamona. "I nearly got killed by a pair of Revolutionists. I was searching for refugees."
"What?" Mo shrieked, and people surned to stare at them. Quieter, she continued, "You should have said something. I told you not to go out alone, what happened to the buddy system?" Mo's eyes were full to the brim with concern for her sister.
"it doesn't matter how many stupid buddies you have, they'll just pick us off two by two if we do that. One by one is better.: She rolled away and looked at the far wall, trying to stay the ears from her eyes.
Mo rolled Gabri towards her, a smile lighting her face. "We're getting out of here, Gabe. Tonight. You me, Nicci, a bunch of us. We're leaving."
Gabri paused. "Where? We can't leave the country, everywhere's as bad as this. Even Hawaii. Where do you propose we go, genius, Timbuktu?"
"Better. Come on, I'll tell you one the way. We;re taking the subways to get supplies."
"But. . ." Gabri tried, but Mo pulled her up, across the room and down a flight of stairs into the subway plaza. They pushed through the turnstiles and jumped into the tracks with the ease of long practice; their's was one of the first houses to be torched, and they had been homeless and alone ever since. The twins had become quite self-sufficientin their underground world.
It was a long trek through miles of identical spikes and rails and darkness, and Gabri was just beginning to let her mind wander when Mo pulled her to the wall. They spent a few minutes trying to get up, but eventually Mo succeeded and pulled Gabri after her. She scrambled up ungracefully.
"Please tell me where you're planning to take me," Gabri begged as her sister lead her across the platform, up the frozen escalator and throug the plaza.
"If I tell, you won't come," taunted Mo. They pushed through the turnstiles and tip-toed up the stairs, peering out to see in any Revolutionists were by. Carefully they creeped through the street, all thoughts of the upcoming escape forgotten as they tried to avoid the eyes of the people who, for fuzzy reasons, declared war of the caucasians.
They reached their destination without incident. It was a large church, ancient and majestic, with a sign tacked over the bulleting reading "KEEP OUT, CAUCS!" It was the vilest name there was for white people. Mo lead Gabri inside with great urgency, both sisters struggling to quiet their raging breath that echoed in the great cathedral. At the back of the church, in the minister's room, there were ladders and dropcloths and all manner of construction tools.
"Grab all the nails you can find," Mo instructed quietly, emptying the ocntents of a red toolbox. She kep tthe hammer and toolbelt.
Gabri scowled, wondering when her sister planned on telling her what was going on, but she grabbed a box of nails and stuffed them in the pocket of her unflattering but practical overalls. They were just turning to leave when Mo tip-toed to the minister's desk and grapped a pen. She scrawled across the minister's packed events calender,
We are sorry for any harm we have done to you. Please forgive us and give back our homes. We certainly bear you no ill will. signed, a white American.
With that, they departed the church
