#self-paras.

he wasn’t with him. he hadn’t been anywhere near georgie when it happened. he was across the room, shielding himself from any shattered glass sent flying in his direction by broken beer bottles. he wasn’t even thinking about georgie. he was thinking about himself, taking care of himself, protecting himself. 

but as the crowd parted and the shouts gave way to a quiet murmur, and the tumultuous waves of pushing and shoving slowed to a halt like a sick carnival ride slowing to a stop, santi lowered his hands, looking around, head swinging left and right as he tried to figure out what was going on.

that was eight seconds ago.

now, he’s here, cradling his best friend’s head in his hands, holding him, calling to him ----

“ georgie ? georgie ----- ”

his right hand comes around george’s head to grasp his chin, thumb pressing abnormally hard into the boy’s cheek while his fingers cradle his jaw, shaking as he hoists him into his lap. he can feel blood seeping into the denim of his jeans, and god, he doesn’t want to look. he doesn’t want to know.

“no, no, no, no ---- no, no no, come on, come on, man -----”

he lets out an incredulous laugh, his eyes glossing over. he WON’T let this happen. he WON’T. he says it like george can help it, like he can’t tell that the light’s already leaving his eyes, like he can’t feel him going limp in his arms by the second -- 

“ georgie, come on, man ----- ”

it’s AGGRESSIVE this time. the hand on his face moves around to the back of his head again, cringing at the way it caves in, the wrong way. he says it the way somebody would react to a joke gone too far, desperate to make it stop, for everyone to laugh and say they’re just kidding.

then the tears start to fall. he doesn’t want to believe it. how could he? georgie’s been by his side his whole life. he’s been there for him through everything -- through his tumultuous adolescence, through his first real heartbreak, through every embarrassing baseball inning and all the victorious ones, too. georgie was there for it all, and santi couldn’t even be there for him this one time. the ONE time he needed him.

suddenly he’s ANGRY. so angry his hands shake and his body feels like it’s caving in, threatening to implode. he pulls georgie closer to his chest and lets out a HEARTWRENCHING sob -- bloodcurdling, his face pressed into the shoulder of the boy’s cotton shirt, stained a dark, dark red. he wants to scream, so he does. screams and sobs and cries and clings to the boy in his arms and god forbid anybody touches him.

and somebody does.

“ WHICH one of you ?! ” he roars, nearly giving himself whiplash with how fast he turns his body, face bright red with how hard he’s crying. he can barely breathe, dragging in ragged breaths. he doesn’t even know who touched his shoulder in an attempt to console him, doesn’t care. everybody’s six feet away, at least, but he feels like he’s miles apart from the nearest person.

“ WHO DID IT ?! ” his voice grows impossibly louder, another wave of angry tears pushing their way out, streaming down his face, falling from his chin, wetting georgie’s shirt below him. “ MURDERERS !! all of you ! ”

and then, all at once, he deflates with another ragged sob, body crumpling inwards, curling over georgie’s as he cradles him. the boy -- his body -- feels like a thousand pounds in his lap, the weight of the world pressing down on santi’s shoulders, caving him in. quiet murmurs give way to silence, save for santi’s wracked sobs, muffled and defeated. BROKEN.

October 22nd, 2077

Fine china wiped spotless, a vacuum sucking at the dust clinging to the drapes, mops squelching against the floors, the hum of the radio on the kitchen table as a chicken roasts in the oven, whispered lullabies and hushed babies, an old army jacket thrown over a chair with initials sewn into the shoulder, pairs of newly polished shoes by the door and a jacket being hung up as a man entered through the front door. Kicking aside his work boots, adding to the pile of dirties that his wife need clean before the day’s end, he lifted his hat off his head and tossed it aside so that he could collapse onto the couch and sling an arm over his eyes to cover himself from the dying light pouring in through the windows. The smell of bleach and lemon-lime permeating the air. Sun bleached rooms that lit up in primary colors painted onto every appliance. 

This was the American Dream — at least, that’s what Riley Worthington was fed her entire life. 

She could hear her husband enter and she kissed her teeth, wiping clean the knife she was planning on using to carve the chicken that’d been baking in the oven for hours. Dirtying her skirt by placing the blade up against the hem and erasing any blemishes on the surface, she wandered out of the kitchen and stared him down as he was sprawled out on the couch.

“Ry,” Riley spoke up, gently at first as he started snoring theatrically upon hearing her voice. She didn’t blink. “Ry, wake up.”

“If it ain’t about dinner bein’ ready, I don’t wanna hear it,” Her husband returned and moved over onto his side, burying his face in the cushions.

She bit her lip. No talking back, ever, she could hear her mother’s voice say. You made your bed. Now die in it. Or was it lie? She couldn’t quite recall. Reaching out, she tugged on her husbands ankle so he’d wake more, which only summoned a groan from him. She kept tugging, growing impatient with each yank. God, her son was easier to coax out of bed in the morning than this grown man.

As Riley tugged harder, her husband reached out and grasped onto her wrist tightly. “What the fuck is it, Riley?!” he then snapped — silenced quickly whenever she held the kitchen knife directly at him. “... Riles,”

“Don’t start, Ryker,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “Tell me why I shouldn’t gut you right now for what you’re plannin’ to do.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Riles?” Ryker asked, sounding more exasperated than usual as he glanced between his wife and his reflection in the surface of the knife. “Listen, calm yourself down first, then we can talk about whatever you’re all riled up about. That sound good? I’ll even get you a cold Nuka Cola, take the edge off.”

Riley didn’t falter, only cocking her head to the side as she smiled in pure disbelief. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that, Ryker Worthington?”

“Riley,” Ryker said cautiously. She could see his hand raising slowly, presumably to steal the knife from her, which only prompted her to jut the point closer to his neck, making him flinch. Figures. Always a coward. “H-Hey now. Cool it with that, it ain’t no butter knife.”

“I fuckin’ know it’s not a butter knife, dipshit,” she spat. “That’s the whole goddamned point. Now, start talkin’ or I’m gonna gut you like a fish.”

Ryker eyed his wife with caution, slowly lowering himself back onto the cushions. “I don’t really like fish much, you know,” he said to try and ease the tension. Needless to say, it didn’t work, as Riley only snorted in return.

“I’ve been married to you for five years, trust me, I know you aren’t very familiar with any kind of fish,” she quipped.

“Oh, you’re funny,” Ryker said, chuckling slightly out of nerves. “What’s gotten into ya, huh, Riles? … Is it your daddy? Did he call you again? Offer to fly you back out to Shitstain, Missouri and live with him and your mama and sister? You know he’s full of it. He can hardly provide for her, how could he—”

“Speak another word on my daddy and I won’t hesitate.” Riley deadpanned in return. That silenced Ryker — for a time, which just kept irritating the young woman as her wide eyes tracked every twitch of his limbs. “I’m talkin’ about your work. Vault-Tec.”

Ryker’s eyes darkened and narrowed at his wife, who kept her chin held high as he propped himself up on his elbows. “Right, then,” he said. “We’re havin’ this conversation again. Tell me, Riley, do you remember the definition of insanity?”

“It’s what the fuck you’ve been up to the past three years,” she snapped.

“Not quite,” Ryker said, sounding eerily calm. “That’d be the exact opposite, really. Why don’t you stop beatin’ around the bush and give it to me straight? What do you know that’s got you like this?”

Swallowing thickly, Riley could feel her nerves clench, forcing her hand to develop a tremor. Goddammit. She squeezed the handle tighter and kept it held as straight as she could. “I know what you plan on doin’,” she said. “I heard you. In that meeting.”

“Oh, so we’re committin’ espionage now?” he snorted. She couldn’t deny how unsettled he was by his blase act, but she held a brave face as she stared him down coldly without answering. “... Alright. So, we’re doin’ this. You know the truth, now you wanna hear it from the horse’s mouth. I always did peg you as a bit of a masochist, y’know.”

“I married you, after all,” she shot back.

Ryker grinned crookedly at her. “That you did, Mrs. Worthington.”

“Say it to me,” Riley said through gritted teeth as she angled the knife closer to his neck, and she was satisfied to see him flinch for the first time since she’d met him. 

“Before I do, I want you to think about Rue,” he said. 

“Don’t bring him into this,” she denied. “You don’t get to even speak his name after what you’ve done. What you’re gonna do.”

Ryker scoffed at his wife, who maintained her composure in spite of his expectations. “He deserves to have his family whole when it’s all said and done,” he told her, but when she didn’t falter, he let out a tired sigh and eyed her before letting his shoulders slack. “... War never changes, Riles. You know that better than any of us. And the world we’re livin’ in now does nothing but perpetuate it. Look at the past three-hundred years of this country — has there been a century of it without war?”

“So the best solution is to, what?” Riley began, feeling her voice thin out with every word she spoke. “Burn it all to the ground?”

“This world’s corrupt and dangerous,” Ryker told her flatly. “It’s for the best that we give humanity a second chance and start over. And yes, that means most people will have to die. But not us. You, me, Rue, we live on. We get to build a better future for him, Riles. Together. Ain’t that what you always wanted? Is that not what you went to war for in the first place? In the vain hope it’d make a better life for us all?”

Riley clenched her jaw, feeling frustration course through her veins as she clutched onto the knife even tighter. “Don’t talk to me about war,” she said. “You don’t know the first goddamned thing about it.”

“Don’t pull that shit with me,” Ryker then snapped. “You know what I did every fuckin’ day when you were gone? I waited for a letter, or a phone call, anything, just to know you were still breathin’ and that you were comin’ back to us. I slept alone. I took care of Rue, I told him you were gonna come home when I didn’t have the slightest fuckin’ idea if you were even still alive out there. So don’t stand there and jab a knife at me and stand on some fuckin’ high horse like you’re the only one who knows what war is like. I know, Riley. I fuckin’ know.”

She gasped whenever he reached out, grasping onto her wrist and keeping a firm grip. Struggling at first, it wasn’t long until the knife went sliding across the vinyl floors and they were stood, face to face with one another, and neither of them quite knew what the other had in mind next. Instead of scrambling for it, he reached out to take a hold of her neck and bring her in closer.

“We’ve got a place ready for us,” Ryker said lowly, and despite knowing she was technically stronger, Riley could never find it within her to do anything except for squeeze his arm so he’d loosen his grasp. “And we’re leavin’ when it’s time. Is that understood?”

When he let her go, she gasped for breath, collapsing onto the floor and spitting where it’d just started to shine underneath the light of the sun. He stepped around her and grabbed the knife, working his way toward the kitchen. 

“Your chicken’s burnin',” he called out. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it. Always do.”

That night, Riley couldn’t catch a wink of sleep, meanwhile Ryker was in a peaceful slumber beside her. She kept staring out the balcony windows, at the city lights of Los Angeles ahead of her. Carefully, she peeled the sheets away from her and padded toward the door in her slip dress, eyeing her husband from over her shoulder as she stepped outside and closed the door behind her.

Reaching into a potted plant and unearthing a silver cigarette case — she promised she’d quit a year ago — she popped it open before picking out a cigarette and placing it between her teeth. After some more digging through the wet soil, she fished out the lighter and held it up to the end of the cigarette and flicked it on. She watched the flame as it danced in the wind, sucking in a long breath whenever it caught on the paper. The bud glowing, she held it delicately between her index and middle fingers as she leaned over the balcony on her elbows, observing the cityscape. 

How long until it’d be reduced to ash and bone? 

She closed her eyes slowly and thought back to simpler times. Her childhood, out in the suburbs of Missouri. Really, she’d always lived a cushioned life up until she was drafted, and she was considered a lucky girl that that’d been the only run of bad fortune she’d encountered in her life. But she was still young, only 23 years old as of June that year. 

She could remember her father chasing her around the backyard and, from the porch, her older sister sketching them as they ran in circles and played kickball and catch. She was the closest thing to a son he’d ever get — that’s why she was named Riley, because her mother was certain she’d be a boy up until the doctor presented her with a fully female newborn, much to everyone’s surprise. And disappointment, of course, though every time her father told the story, he kept expressing to her how overjoyed he was that she was a girl.

“You were the prettiest thing in the universe, Riley,” he said, grinning cheesily at her. “Right up there next to your mama and sister.”

A fond smile laced Riley’s lips as she reminisced before it began to fade. Was there any saving him? Or her mother or sister? They were all innocent, and if Ryker and Vault-Tec were set on repopulating the world with the right kind of people, well… Her father and sister would at least make the cut. 

She remained on the balcony until she could see the sun break over the horizon, having chainsmoked the last of her cigarettes throughout the night. By the time Ryker woke up for work, she was back in bed, having doused herself in perfume so that he wouldn’t smell the chemicals on her. She was awake the entire time he readied himself, listening to the rustle of his belt and his grunts and groans — he was getting old. Was he even qualified to be in the program he so eagerly pitched ideas in favor of?

Once she felt his lips press against her cheek in goodbye and heard the front door shut, Riley sat up out of bed and rubbed her face before she hurried over to the closet. She hauled a suitcase onto the mattress and flipped it open, yanking out all her dresser drawers and piling as many clothes as she could into the empty space.

Whenever the suitcase was packed nearly to the brim she fled her bedroom. Hurrying down the hall, she rounded the corner into her son’s room and crouched beside his bed, nudging him carefully so that he’d stir awake.

“Ruru,” she whispered softly, reaching out to caress his cheek. “Wake up.”

Whining, Rue rubbed his eyes and blinked at his mother, still drowsy. “School?” he assumed.

“No, cowboy,” she chuckled a little as she scooped her arms underneath him to help prop him up, hoping it’d wake him more. “We’re goin’ on a road trip, you and me. Out to grandma and grandpa’s. Don’tcha wanna see ‘em again? And Aunt Nonnie?”

“Why?” the young boy asked. Always inquisitive, that one. He certainly inherited that from his mother. “... ‘Cause of the bombs?”

Riley frowned at him, freezing where she’d gone to take some clothes out of his dresser. “How’d you know about all that?”

“Heard you and daddy talkin’,” he said honestly. “I’m sorry, mama. Is that why we gotta go?”

“... C’mere, Ruru,” Riley let out a sigh as she lowered herself onto her knees and held her arms out for Rue, who stumbled forward so that she could cradle him. For a moment, it was almost like he was an infant again with the whole world at his fingertips. Now, it was falling apart and he didn’t even have the bliss of ignorance to protect him from it. “You wanna know somethin’ I learned about those bombs in the Marines?”

Rue looked up at her with curious brown eyes, and she smiled down at him before holding her thumb up and shutting one eye. “If the cloud is smaller than your thumb, then you start runnin’,” she told him.

“What if it’s bigger?” he then asked.

Her expression softened and she lowered her hand. “Well. They said there’d be no use in runnin’ then.”

“Is it gonna happen?” he kept wondering.

Riley’s lips pressed together, then she leaned in to press a kiss against his temple. “I certainly hope not.”

Thirty minutes later, Riley had all of their necessities packed and she’d written a brief note to Ryker that she stuck on the leftovers in the fridge: GONE CAMPING. SEE YOU ON THE OTHER SIDE. — R.

As she loaded their things in the older car of hers that’d been rotting away in their garage since she came back home, Rue was sat in the front seat, kicking his feet around and listening to the radio while he waited for his mother to finish sorting everything. While she murmured a list to herself over and over, assuring herself that she wouldn’t forget anything else they’d nee to acquire during the drive, he glanced up at the horizon and tilted his head at the mountains in the distance.

Slowly, he held his thumb up in front of his squinted gaze, and though it tremored he managed to keep it straight after a bit of practice.

“Mama?” he called out.

“One second, Ruru,” she said in return as she struggled slamming shut the trunk.

“Is it your thumb or mine?” he asked.

Looking up at him, Riley’s attention was thwarted to the horizon, where a mushroom cloud had developed and a darkness had engulfed the skyline. She could feel her heart jump into her throat and expand there, a loud beating that couldn’t be swallowed. From the car’s radio, only one thing could be picked up before the radio tower was knocked out:

“—followed by flashes, blinding flashes. Sounds of explosions. We’re trying to get confirmation … seemed to have lost contact with Anchorage stations. We do have — we do have coming in confirmed reports, that’s confirmed reports of nuclear detonations in Alaska and Washington State. Dear God—"