Interest Concentrated: FlipSide: ReWritten

I've worked on some of Rayhaan's old FlipSide stories, and I've re-editted and written the stories to become longer and clearer.
This particular one is FlipSide 4: http://interestconcentrated.blogspot.co.uk/2015/10/flipside-4.html
I thought it was particularly well written and I've made some adjustments to the storyline to better reflect how I think this story should have been drafted as.
Think of it as the final draft of a fantastic story.
I'll try and re-edit some more and post them in the future.
Enjoy!

New Clear War Fair

The great white light of the sun shone upon the survivor's garden. The morning heat was intense, more than enough to awaken the man. He was aged; his features chiselled. He had enough to keep him disturbed, and he only slept because of the pain he felt in his weary body.

The survivor was just a young man when nuclear warfare began. It was a strained idea at the time, not even a last resort for most nations; all under the façade of "world peace". He could still remember the shrill cries of women next door once the warhead was launched. In a few seconds, the government pleaded to the citizens to run for the nearest shelter, and all hell began to break lose. Babies were crying. Animals moaning. The end was nigh.

---

The survivor rose from his bed; a deep sigh rolling down his nostrils. It wasn't really a bed, he thought. The sheets were rags, tearing away at its ends. His pillows were sacks of soft beach sand, decades old, as he was.

Within the span of at most, 2 decades, most of the unhealthy adults passed, and without many adults, a few younger ones could not survive either. His sister, with her delicate health and pale features, was one of the first to go. Upon recollection, the survivor often broke into tears, "Why me? What's the point of living when all I have are these damned chickens?"

He would often kick the cage door in frustration. Suicide was not an option either. He was stronger than that, and as his loved ones passed away in his arms, he vowed he would survive for their sake, and survive he did.

---

Mid- afternoon came, and he retreated to the kitchen. He opened the food vaults and stared into it. The ample amount of nutrition mocked him. It stood for what would keep him alive, what would keep him in his lonesome, vulnerable to the ghosts of his life past. The survivor cooked and dined heartily, as his mother had taught him. He sat at the dining table. In his mind, mother was standing beside him, waiting for him to slip up on his etiquette so she could correct him. A single tear dripped down the sullen face of the survivor, as he remembered his mother and her sharp features. He could never tell her how good her cooking was. He was too much of an idiot, enjoying the food when she fed him.

He finished his lunch and opened grandfather's dilapidated house, conveniently built next to his, almost a century ago. He marvelled at grandfather’s paintings.

His aged fingers rubbed the surface of the portraits, older than him when he saw first them. The beautiful hues had faded away into abstraction, the years and the radiation eating away what was left of art itself.

In this moment of pure but restless bliss, the echoes of his nephews’ voices came back to him, laughing and screaming in excitement as their days were passed in utopia, the epitome of life at the time. The relaxed voices of his lovely Laila, his mother and his sister, drifted over to him, talking about the wonderful cakes they’d make next week, the trips they’d take, the friends they’d meet.

---

The survivor could bare these ghosts no more. He grabbed a Geiger meter from grandfather’s office and headed out of the lead gates. He walked down the street, onto the main road, and into the city. He walked on, past the destruction of yesteryear. The Geiger meter began beeping. The radiation levels were increasing. The survivor went into ice cream shops, shopping malls, and restaurants, all with his family beside him.

Finally, he ventured to the coast and sat on the rocks. The radiation he was being exposed was gnawing away at his skin, but he didn't mind. The toxic seawater sprayed on his toes as it hit the rocks.

The last of the evening blues darkened, and the views of the old town disappeared as the thick mists set in again.

Watching this spectacle, his emotions got the best of him. A dry tear dribbled across his wrinkled cheek. The world was so beautiful, why did it have to end the way it did?

He tried his best. He really did. But he had his family again, in his mind, and they were comforting him. Everything was going to be alright. The survivor shed his last tears as his skin melted away atop the coastal rocks.

He knew he had made his family proud.

Compare it to the original to see just how different they are! Links given above- and below!

Thanks for reading!

---Thisath---

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Check out Rayhaan's other stories:

Flipside 1: http://interestconcentrated.blogspot.co.uk/2015/06/the-closed-door.html

Flipside 2: http://interestconcentrated.blogspot.co.uk/2015/07/flipside-2.html

Flipside 3: http://interestconcentrated.blogspot.co.uk/2015/08/flipside-3.html
Flipside 4: http://interestconcentrated.blogspot.co.uk/2015/10/flipside-4.html

MirrorMan: http://interestconcentrated.blogspot.com/2015/08/mirrorman.html

Poems Concentrated Series:

Edition 1: http://interestconcentrated.blogspot.co.uk/p/poems-concentrated.html