on August 11th 2015
Genres: Science fiction, Dystopia
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Welcome to the Apocalypse. Your forecast includes acid rain, roving gangs and misplaced priorities, in this comedic take on the end of the world as we know it, from debut author Daphne Lamb. As a self-entitled, self-involved, and ill equipped millennial, Verdell probably wouldn't have ranked very high on the list of those most likely to survive the end of the world, but here she is anyway. Add in travelling with her work addicted boss, her boyfriend who she has "meh" feelings for, and a handful of others who had no businesses surviving as long as they have, and things aren't exactly going as planned. But despite threats of cannibalism, infected water supplies, and possibly even mutants, Verdell is willing to put in as little effort as she can get away with to survive.
“Wait,” I looked around. “There’s a bathroom here? You’re telling me I used a dumpster out in the open like a jerk?”
Debra poked her head out of a broken window.
“You say that like it’s a big fat joke,” she said. “And it’s not. Just because we’re going through a hard time doesn’t mean we have to live like savages. You can still be picky about a bathroom.” She paused, then took a deep breath. It seemed she was doing everything she could to keep her shaky emotions in check. “So just for that,” she said. “No one gets to use this bathroom. It’s mine!” She went back inside, slamming the window.
“I don’t get it,” I said. “That answered none of my questions.”
“Want a tour?” Robert asked. “we were just getting settled.”
I followed his lead. The inside of the house was a wreck. There were brown stains coimiung down the walls and more spray painted scrawling. A distinct odor wafted through the halls, something like sewage and fresh air, a yin and yang of experiences. There was a couch, its cushions gone, a giant rip through its upholstery and propped up against one of the boarded up windows.
I followed him into the kitchen where Debra was going through the cabinets.
“You would think you could find something to eat,” she said. “But no.” She pulled out a box of Fruit Rollups. “Please,” she said. “This is a travesty.”
“It’s food,” I said. “At least it’s something.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “Gluten?” she said. “Sugar? Carbs? I’m telling you, if earthquakes and viruses don’t kill us, this will.” She slammed the box back down. “I will swell up like a balloon unless I find some gluten-free options here.” She looked up as Priscilla entered the house. “Maria!” she said. “You made it!”
Priscilla smiled. “It’s still Priscilla.”
Debra waved it away. “And this place is a mess. Maybe a little tidying up, perhaps?”
She turned away, bend down to look in the cabinets under the sink.
Priscilla turned to me, confused. “Does she think I’m the hired help?”
Instead of answering, I looked around. “So this place has a working bathroom?” I asked.
“Yeah, about that,” Robert said, sheepishly.
His face said it all.
“We tried it,” he said. “It didn’t work out.”
Review to come!