#apocalipsis

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Fotografiado por Greg Williams

If, in order to have an intimate union with Our Lord and perfect fidelity to the Holy Spirit, we need to make ourselves dependent on the help and assistance of Our Lady, then it is ALWAYS appropriate to also give her the title of Co-Redemptrix. This is contrary to what "Pope" Leo Wolf said, as stated by Prevost.

#apocalipsis #BelisseProtagonist

1.

Belisse had been walking through dead land for days, all layers of her tunics covered in dry dirt and debris, small clouds of dust rising with every step, until a building came into sight. Between short breaths and heavy blinks she edged closer, getting the front door in sight, finding shelter behind an abandoned tractor. It was necessary to observe the area before moving, study it; no matter what conditions she faced, she’d rather die out in the open than surrender to the psychopaths plaguing the land. The provisions she’d managed to gather were nearly gone, but the backpack she carried them in felt as heavy as a ton; her vision blurred for a few seconds as her knees hit the ground, dehydration making her dizzy. She’d been fighting against her body, forcing herself to keep moving even when her legs refused to respond, and now she’d reached her limit. Removing the scarf covering her nose and mouth, she took her canteen from her backpack and poured the last few drops of water into her mouth.

A week before today, after walking fifty kilometers with brief stops to eat and rest, she had come across an abandoned building, smaller than the ones from town, stocked with basic supplies; sleeping under a roof was a privilege, but the real surprise was finding cans of food and drinkable water. She debated for hours whether to stay there and set up a proper camp, but ultimately dismissed the idea. It seemed like a good place to treat her thirst and hunger, yes, but she was sure someone was following her, and the building’s location was poor, too close to Tandil, the city where the last bomb had exploded; survivors, mercenaries, and apocalyptic anarchists crowded the streets, carving out territories and getting away with all kinds of atrocities.

One, or several, were after her.

Years after the end of the world, Belisse had grown accustomed to dehumanization, to the dark and illegal actions of those who had managed to survive the final explosion, but the decision to move forward came after receiving word that her group was the next target of a pack of torturers, “The Scavengers”: brainless, sick men, the kind who would (ideally) be behind bars in the world that no longer existed. 

The pack of survivors she was part of made the collective decision to split up, moving in the same direction but on separate routes, promising to meet again near the next city. Each chose their own route before setting out, though it was clear to Belisse that none of them had much hope of evading The Scavengers. Part of her had wanted to protest, try to keep the group together regardless of logic; they all agreed four people moving together made for an easier target than one person alone. Part of her had wanted to ditch all their planning, track down the hunters, and open fire on them. Dying in a shooting sounded better than being tortured, raped, and kept alive for the sick pleasure of a stranger; the end of the world was unfair to the innocent and a cause for celebration among the tyrants. 

But when she looked at the faces of her three fellow survivors (whom she did not dare call friends; this new reality did not allow that concept), she knew they had to go their separate ways. Thus, weeks ago, she set out toward a new horizon, leaving behind the asphalt, the crime, familiar faces and guerrilla groups to traverse dead land, following the only road from a safe distance. 

It used to be called Route 5, connecting her city, Tandil, with the next one, Río Verso. The traffic was always heavy—four lanes in total, two in one direction and two in the other—filled with cars, motorcycles, trucks, and even people riding bicycles from time to time. The leaders of the Old World had made sure the landscape, though flat and devoid of any particular charm, was at least pleasing to the eye: hectares of sunflowers, enormous trees, wild bushes and grazing animals. Belisse remembered traveling that stretch with her parents, riding in the back seat while music played on the stereo, counting cows with her mother to pass the time. 353 kilometers separated one city from the other, a dangerous distance to cover on foot, leaving her too exposed to whoever else might be walking there as well. 

The chances of running into a group or other individuals were high, because now, Route 5 was nothing more than a dry gorge of abandoned cars, with decomposing bodies slumped behind the wheel, a reminder of those who had tried unsuccessfully to flee the explosion. Nature had survived, but not without paying a price: trees that had once provided shade were now nothing more than dry branches, growing in strange patterns; they no longer stretched upward in search of sunlight. Malformed branches sprouted from the ground, sharp spikes emerging from dry earth. There were no more leaves, just branch upon branch in incomprehensible designs, spreading across the surface, moving away from the original tree and taking up more land.

qué amor tan en paz

el tuyo.