In-Class Prompt beginnings

None of us knew the colour of the sky, the delicate blend of post-storm hues, though that there had been a heavy storm we were fully aware. We had marched through this desolate cityscape for days, wrists bound tight with thick kudzu vines torn from this skyscraper or that. Our blindfolds began to itch and stink following the torrential rains, the strips of leather rancid with sweat and stormwater. Our eyes glanced level; there was nowhere else for an eye to drift, no reason to cast looks in any direction.

Slavers were far too common now. The city police were more concerned with feeding their families than upholding the laws of a dead institution. What justice can there be when a man must watch his infant simultaneously shrivel and swell from the ravages of malnutrition? These changing times brought on waves of change. And so some had to adapt, to respond to the pressures of an irresponsible anarchy.

Project Mayhem had been so thorough in its execution that Durden was practically deified. The day he burned the original copy of the Constitution had been the tipping point, the inception of a new religion in this poor excuse for a nation, a faith in chaos that birthed a future of

(written from the perspective of a great-great(whatevergreats)-granddaughter of Marla Singer. Fight Club woooo! more to come very soon. i'm intrigued by myself)

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