The man traveled by dark on broken roads where the hard rubber soles of his ankle-highs hardly made a sound. This way he could hear better around himself and filter out the susurration of breeze and scratchy leaves. By starlight and adjustment to the dark he could see enough to avoid ruptured macadam and crumbled stone thrust open by dark cyanic boughs that reached ten feet before sprouting tangles of vines that crept and twisted their way into the forests they were slowly choking. Twice he tried pulling at the stuff to make rope, but the plume-laden cords were indestructible by hand of man. He wondered if a hacksaw might sever a measure. He doubted though. // Deep purple blossoms superficially suggested beauty, especially the unique spiral of layers that sprouted from the center, but you couldn't pick one for you mom or your wife if either were alive. There was only one pedal that radiated from the center and no stamen. They could not be torn and small creatures straying to close found themselves mired in a sticky viscous fluid that seemed to seep through unseen channels in the a pedals walls. The man watched a robin on the last leg of its life in one, and as the creatures movements slowed the pedal radiated inward a very slow peristaltic wave that drew its prize downward. What happened beyond that he did not know and was afraid to consider. // Three days since the last town. No idea of its name. In the light—disrepair, weeds through cracks, and scatters of bones of dogs ...
Keywords: book, novel, post-apocalypse, post-apocalyptic, writing, end, of, world, survivor, author, apocalypse, apocalyptic, Cormac, mccarthy, the, road, each, other's, entire
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