My City of Perpetual Death

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Abstract

ng the street.The legends tell of a shrine deep in the heart of this city of misery where all sins are forgotten. All crimes absolved. Where all debts are paid. This is to where I quest. My ledger is crimson and requires a balancing. A reckoning.My journey has been long, but it is almost complete. All which remains is discovering this shrine. My ticket to salvation. To <a href="https://redemptionmagazine.com/">redemption</a>.I will be safe in the arms of my lord, if the radiation doesn’t kill me first.<figure id="ff61"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*cuG6v62eldzMPrNMXs2p5g.png"><figcaption></figcaption></figure><a href="undefined">Paul Mansfield</a> is a writer, a photographer, a guitar player, a philosopher — some he does well, some not so well, but he still tries them all. You can follow him on Twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/pmansfield">@pmansfield</a><a href="https://pmansfield.medium.com/membership">And if you want to subscribe to Medium, here’s a link where I get paid a trifle to sell my soul to the Corporate Overlords. The Corporate Overlords eat the Great Old Ones for breakfast.</a><div id="3e6a" class="link-block">

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            <h2>Join Medium with my referral link — Paul Mansfield</h2>
            <div><h3>As a Medium member, a portion of your membership fee goes to writers you read, and you get full access to every story…</h3></div>
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            <h2>Dad’s Old Photograph</h2>
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One must undertake a journey of redemption if one wishes to bask in the warmth of their lord.

As I walk through the city gates, I drop my pack at the side of the road. Worn, torn, and empty — there’ll be no need for it now, Dead weight carrying the forgotten memories of my distant past.

The wolves circle the gates, but they do not dare enter. Despite their hunger and unnatural desire for carnage, even they know it is certain death which awaits them if they do. They have no desire to die; only to feed and cry havoc, for they are the dogs of war.

My nuclear city, glowing in the dawn. Neon signs of temptation once swayed in the gentle breeze amongst the junkies, winos, and whores. All that remains is the sickly glow of radiation and the sweet, gently hum of death, and the piles of decaying corpses littering the street.

The legends tell of a shrine deep in the heart of this city of misery where all sins are forgotten. All crimes absolved. Where all debts are paid. This is to where I quest. My ledger is crimson and requires a balancing. A reckoning.

My journey has been long, but it is almost complete. All which remains is discovering this shrine. My ticket to salvation. To redemption.

I will be safe in the arms of my lord, if the radiation doesn’t kill me first.

Paul Mansfield is a writer, a photographer, a guitar player, a philosopher — some he does well, some not so well, but he still tries them all. You can follow him on Twitter @pmansfield

Another dark story by Paul.

SALVATION

My City of Perpetual Death

One must undertake a journey of redemption if one wishes to bask in the warmth of their lord.

Join Medium with my referral link — Paul Mansfield

As a Medium member, a portion of your membership fee goes to writers you read, and you get full access to every story…

Dad’s Old Photograph

Long buried family secrets haunting me; haunting us even in death.