Young Writers Society

You remember the world before Sephiroth's Meteor. It wasn't perfect, but darnit, it was your world. As an adventurer, you've set out in the dusty, climate-wrecked new world to hunt him down knowing in your bones that he's alive and scheming somewhere; after all, the meteor didn't destroy the world.

He must want something else, right?

Don your skills and weapons and hunt! Him! Down! (And also make comrades.)

He'd seen worse occur.

Whatever planetary destruction some cosmic entity could throw at him, he's seen humans capable of something even more morally reprehensible. Granted, he supposed it might've been compensation--humans couldn't whack entire armies down with one blow, so they had to have some edge.

Still, there he was. Armored in a bulletproof vest and a trusty hat Mary salvaged off of the corpse of a bandit, Bernard slipped his shotgun in his belt, turning back to his dusty shack. "See you soon, love," he said, waving at the silhouette of Mary, carrying what looked like a basket of nuts and bolts. "Off to destroy a monster."

Mary simply waved back, knowing well that her husband may or may not die, and not entirely caring. He's been through worse, after all. She's seen him go through worse.

Iris tucked her thick brown curls under her sun hat and adjusted the sword in her belt. She didn't need guns, or even swords to fight; she had her earth magic tingling in her fingers. She was ready to go.

Fairies who had survived the meteor were living together in a tiny village by the sea. Iris was one of them, and she was the only one who was thinking about the monster. She had to go if none of her fairy comrades were willing to.

Iris set down the path away from the village as fast as she could, glancing behind her to make sure no one had noticed.

"Wellll hell," Marty coughed as his boxing ring caved in. I mean--you have to understand that a.) the boxing ring was, like, 90 years old, b.) he hadn't paid rent to his slumlord in 8 months which is never advisable, and c.) his slumlord happened to be a dynamite mogul.

Added together, it meant his boxing ring--Fists, Fists, Fists!--was no more. And being the paranormal expert he was, he didn't accept the above reasons as enough for the destruction. Oh, no.

The pugilist blamed the freak with the wing and katana and freakin' meteor. Regardless, Marty took his boxing gloves and took to the road, heading for the ominous horizon with a deep yawn. It was well-past drinking time.

Pulling up the collar on my trench coat, I walked among the ruins of the village. Since the meteor, everything had been destroyed. I didn't like it, but didn't overly care- it was just another world filled with human locusts. Still, it was my world and I didn't take kindly to this Sephiroth destroying it, thank you very much.

Apophia nuzzled my cheek, her unblinking eyes watching me. I gently pushed the taipan's muzzle away from my face. The serpent gave me a look, then rested her head on my chest once more.

Bernie's first stop was at Doug's Pub.

It could easily be his last, since his next stop will be the Fairy Village by the coastline--some were kind enough, but Sephiroths meteor caused most of them to go into a state of panic, making them more hostile to whatever creature in their way. Still, an old friend could enchant his weaponry and perhaps give him a more durable set of armor; something he'll need if he's to go after the meteor.

But alcohol came first.

"You want how many bottles of rum?" Doug asked behind the counter, the doorbell ringing whenever some other survivor or bandit came along. "Bernie, you ain't tryin to kick the bucket, ain't ya? Times like these, men like you are in high demand--"

"I ain't a brave man, Dougie, just a fearless one," Bern shook his hand at the bartender, then through a sizeable sack of gold his way. "And fearlessness ain't born if it don't come from a bottle."

Doug stared at the coins on his counter, evidently thinking about how many dinners he could buy with it, or how many broken wooden floorboards he could fix. He frowned. "You're leaving, ain't ya?" He deduced, "You're gon do something dumb--"

Bernie scowled. Doug sighed.

"I'll take care of Mary if she ever needs the help," the bartender turned to the cabinets behind him, putting green bottles in a large sack.

As Iris walked along the coast, she spotted a building far away.

She saw tiny stick figures walking in and out and debated with herself whether she could fly or not. But flying was slow and a chore for Iris, because she was an earth fairy. She had better walk anyway.

But the distance was longer than she had expected, and pretty soon she had to stop to rest and eat. She opened her knapsack and broke off a hunk of bread from the rolls she had packed.

A scrawny seagull swooped down and snatched the bread out of her hands before she could do anything. It zipped away so fast that Iris had no hope of catching up to her. Iris gritted her teeth, swallowed some water, and walked on.

Bernie was already missing Mary.

Though he had plenty of food left for the journey (and hunting material if he ever ran out), he somehow forgot his bandages and an extra pack of bullets, both things he'll very much miss. He considered returning, but he figured since he was already near the coastline, it wasn't worth it. Besides, perhaps he could salvage something from one of the office buildings he was surrounded by--heck, if he was lucky, he'd find another band of scavengers. If he was luckier, he'd find a group of bandits to kill. But he was lazy, so the former sounded kinder to his old bones.

He entered an old building, deciding to take a short break. He took out one of the bottles in his sack (in that moment, he had a satchel, a backpack, a belt full of guns, and said sack), smelling the tip of the bottle, before deciding to chug it down anyway. What Bernie found out from World War 3 is that he was much more effective when he found a way to make his IQ lower. Nearly impossible (he blamed his professor parents for that), but the alcohol was effective enough.

With every sip, he could feel his fears slip away from him, along with several blueprints for repairing Mary's stove, the plans to build a new truck, some of the old failed space shuttle models NASA once asked him to make. Most, he didn't need. Especially the latter. Even before Sephiroth, the world had no need for scientists. Not anymore, at least.

Something clacked in the distance.

He took to the gun in his belt, then, setting the bottle aside. "Whose there?" he screamed, seemingly into nowhere. "If ya'll thinkin' of doing something stupid, why don't you pick a fight with someone a lil' smaller. Save me the bullets and get gone."

A seagull cawed in the distance. A figure moved into the light.

A guy had a gun pointed at her.

Perhaps bullets could kill her.

Perhaps they could not.

Only one way to find out.

"Can you shoot me?" She asked. He raised an eyebrow.

"Huh?"

"Just do it." He pulled the trigger and a bullet flew at her abdomen. Instead of hitting her, and went straight through. "That's what I was afraid of."

The man looked like a startled rabbit. It was quite humorous, actually. "How the hell did you do that?!"

"You look like you just saw a ghost. Well, I guess you did, apparently. Since I clearly remember dying in the meteor explosion. But here I am, and now bullets can't kill me. Means I'm a ghost, I reckon. Wonder what can hurt me... Anyhow, I'm Ylvette. What's your name?"

Well. Here's something I've never seen.

Bernie groaned. His older self would've been utterly fascinated, or at least entertained, but the alcohol had kicked his boredom out the door so he wasn't keen on anymore excitement in his lifetime. "Sorry, kiddo," he said, though he was sure the figure was anything but a kid, "But I'm not in a friendly mood today. Unless, hell, you're willin' to fight me for it."

He sat back down, taking another sip of his bottle. "Do me a favor, though--don't," he gestured the bottle to the ghost. "I ain't in the mood, and ya ain't got no body to fight with. Save us both the trouble and leave an old man be."

The ghost--God, he already forgot its name--looked at him, either concerned or insulted. He couldn't really tell, what with the glowy-ethereal-thing going on there. "You really shouldn't be drinking at this hour," it said. "You might get robbed while you're out cold."

Bernie finished his bottle, then smashed it against the floor beside him. He looked at the formation of the cracks, deciding it'll make a good improvised weapon. "Crows are smart. They know not to f*** with eagles," he said, setting the thing aside for now. "Not that I am an eagle. I'm just a vulture that whose not willing to share."

Evie--Ylvie--Ylvina crossed its arms, scowling. "What are you even doing here?" it asked, "It's not like anybody lives here anymore."

Bernie only smiled. "Ah, why not? It's not like you could stop me," he shrugged. "And even if you kill me, I'll have company, at least."

Iris heard a gunshot in the air. She recklessly ran forward and saw two standing. One was carrying a gun, the other was not.

The building was looming ahead. Should she bypass it to avoid the man with the gun? No. It was safe, and Iris believed that she could defend herself. Well, as long as neither of them were hostile, it'd be fine. Iris jogged another mile, wincing because her wings were getting burned from the sun. At last, she arrived in front of the two.

The man pointed his gun at her. "Who are you?"

"Stop pointing the gun at me. I'm Iris," she said, "and I'm travelling to defeat a monster."

When Bernie saw the wings, his first thought was Good God, they didn't. "What happened?" he asked, unaware of the fact that he was still gesturing with the gun. "What made the fairies evacuate?"

The fairy--Ira, whatshamacallit--glared at him, glancing cautiously at the gun. "Hey, I already said put the gun down," she said, "And we're not evacu--"

"Ah, malarkey," Bernie slapped the gun in the air, making the fairy flinch for a second, "Fairies don't leave their homes. Some sh** must've gone down if--"

"Yeah, stuff went down. Sephiroth went down here and messed everything up," the fairy replied, petulantly. "Look, I'm not looking for a fight. I'm just--"

But Bernie wasn't listening. He counted briefly how long his 'break' went, until he forgot that the point of drinking was that he couldn't count the number of toes he has left, and then he promptly collapsed.

Ylvette stared at the old (ish?) man on the floor, staring at her fingers. They glowed an ominous color after patting the man in the back (she still wasn't sure why, but she was glad she did), and she shrugged, looking at Iris. "So, uh. He's out cold," she pointed a thumb at the man. "You wanna help prop him up?"

Iris stared down at the man, before looking at the ghost. "Does he have food?"

Ylvette shrugged. Iris took it as a yes.

Ylvette and Iris dragged the man inside the building.

"Why did he collapse?" Iris whispered.

"Probably he was drinking," Ylvette answered.

Iris dug in her knapsack. "Luckily I have a packet of herbs here to deal with hangover and other stuff. Some of the fairies in my village drink too much crystals and they get plain drunk. I never do, though." She took out a small packet and withdrew a dark green herb that smelled pungently bitter.

Iris poked the man several times. "Passing out from drink isn't so good." She waved the herb in front of his face until he blinked awake.

Bernie blinked once, twice. He coughed, and then he tried to count, again, how many bottles he'd taken. He swore, he hadn't more than two or three--Doug must've made the dose stronger this time.

"Great," he grunted, waving the fairy's hand away. "Wonderful. I need more sleep."

At least his headache was gone. He grabbed his bags, stashing the gun back into his belt. The fairy was looking at him, her eyes unnerving him. "Ah. Sh**, you're not so bad," he opened his satchel, handing the fairy some bread and a tube of astronaut food he stored for himself for several years. "Here. Don't eat it all at once, okay?"

Bernie turned away, then, his hands in his pockets. "Wait!" The fairy said suddenly, "Where are you going?"

He shrugged, not looking back. "Going to save the world, sweetie," he said, "Or die, probably. That's also an option."

"You're gonna kill Sephiroth?"

"Maybe, if there's a God." He didn't believe in God.

"Hey," The fairy started, again, "Didn't you hear me? I'm going to kill him, too."

Sure. He'd believe that.

Iris glanced at him. "So are we going together?" At last he wasn't so bad now; her herb had worked. Iris stuffed it back into her bag. Typically she would have just tossed it away, but this time she would have to save.

The man shrugged. "If you like."

"Who are you, anyway?" Iris continued.

"Bernie." He started walking ahead.

Iris watched him as he approached the coast. "Sephiroth's not there!" she yelled after him.

"Your village!" He kept walking

"Why on earth he's going to my home I don't know!" Iris said. She glanced at Ylvette to ask her opinion. "Why--you look different!"

"I'm a ghost," Ylvette answered. "I died from the meteor, after all."

Iris started biting into the bread. "So should I follow him or what? If he can find my village, means he has connections. If he comes, the fairies will ask him where I am. And he might tell them."

"Why don't you go after him?" Ylvette suggested. "It's better to stick as a team."

Iris sighed. "All right. Are you coming?" Leaving her question unanswered, she stowed the food back into her bag and dashed after Bernie.