The Glass Gardens
Welcome in the world of postpandemic wastelands, where humanity is divided to 3 kinds: those who live inside underground shelters, Nomads, People Of New Era. Outside of burning sunlight, dreaming of taking the day surface again, there's a fairy tale about places, where color green still exists. The tale about Glass Gardens, the last scraps of Eden on the burned Earth.
Hello there. You will ask: what the hell is that? The answer is: this is a side project, an english translation of my novel, which is published HERE. My native language is NOT english, so, lets say/write it straight, it can be lame sometimes. Please, forgive me and try to enjoy this as much as I do :)
Special thanks for Kaja Pacuła, who helps me with translation. Nah, ok. She actually did most of the work :)
niedziela, 1 maja 2011
Chaper I (I)
wtorek, 19 kwietnia 2011
Chapter 0
Imagine, there were endless fields on the surface, in the sunlight. There was no hunger, penury, or poverty. Humanity was driving on the evolutionary highway. And then came the Fall.
You know that sometimes there was a cold, watery dust falling from sky? They called it snow. The whole world was white then. Pure, without defects, blemishes or dirt. And, after some time, the dust disappeared and turned into grass and leaves on the trees. It was like a... soap foam on the skin. How much would I give now for a little bit of that dust... But, all in all, I would not say no to a bar of soap either.
Now I will tell you about two men who should have stuck to the memory of people like a child to sweets, but instead they have been forgotten. Let me tell you about a friendship meant to last through thick and thin, about adventures and quests. And finally, let me tell you about the glass gardens, last scraps of Eden remaining on the sun-scorched earth. Where verdure still exists. You may laugh. You have every right to disbelieve me. But they really exist and their brilliance is blinding.
All that happened many years ago when I was still young and strong. In fact, I was just a few years older than some of you. Those were good times... the food tasted better, women were more beautiful, and little squirts like you were taught since childhood to respect the elders and not interrupt them when they speak. If you do not want me here, I'll just go - sixteen pairs of eyes fixed ruthlessly on a, more or less, twelve-year old boy with a sarcastic smile on his face. Which, by the way, quickly faded like a moth in flame.
-...rry...
The old man smiled slightly, inhaled the cigarette smoke into his lungs and winked at the boy. Apologies accepted. - It was... the age of heroes.