Creative writing. Tell me what you think.
The darkness of night blankets a grim and monochromatic metropolis. Its polished, rigid geometric urban layout a bureaucratic attempt at hiding the crime and disease lurking beneath its surface. The atmosphere is empty and cold.
The streets are lifeless. Their Lights turn on and off in cycling effect. Alleyways are ominous, filled with transients, minds consumed by nihilism, psychosis and synthetic psychostimulants. Death is waiting just around the corner.
Highrise apartment complexes are filled with worker drone Cro Magnons, running on a fuel mix of left wing philosophy, and cheap, genetically modified food. They're an expendable resource for the global super elite. Existence is bland and meaningless like cheap modern art.
Welcome to high technology Orwellian hell.
Wanted by federal police for thought crimes, you have been forced into hiding. You are in one of the apartment complexes, located in the worst section of the metropolis. Booming electronic ghetto music shakes flaking paint from your rundown apartment walls during the day, while gunshots and blood curdling screams keep your from sleep at night.
You drift in and out of consciousness. Reality and schizophrenic nightmare slowly meld, changing the world around you. It warps and flexes in hallucination. What was once real is now not.
Your delusion becomes a hyperstitional engine, turning your strange ideas into reality. As a result, you can no longer leave the house. You have become a prisoner, and there is no escape.
Desperation intensifies, resulting in thoughts of suicide. Life in a prison in the putrid bowels of hell is simply to much to bear. Its corrupted nature has almost completely drained the life force out of you.
In a moment of pure terror, you grab your martial .50 revolver, aim it at your frontal lobe, and aggressively squeeze the trigger, causing a high velocity round to exit from the barrel, and atomize half of your head. Death is instantaneous.
You are survived by no children.