Only Living Boy in New YorkOnly Living Boy in New York2 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Alfred F. Jones found comfort in the way that the crack jarring his cell phone screen gave the colours of his background jagged edges and blurred his contact list beyond legibility. Not that he really needed to read the names there; he'd erased all but two numbers during the bombing.
Sometimes he'd scroll up and down that tiny list from the bleeding letters of Arthur Kirkland to Matthew Williams. Always his thumb would crash down upon the first name-- only to fidget until he could muster up the courage and self-resolve to push callthen he'd listen to the endless ringing and the eventual crackling of a phone unable to connect.
Still, morning after morning, he'd survey his makeshift camp before wedging the phone between shoulder and ear, rolling up his blanket, and stuffing it into his backpack along with his canteen and a tin plate he'd found in the wreckage of his old home.
And he'd walk, seeing no hope in a horizon choked by a yellowish haze or the lifeless