More Ivan!
More Ivan stuff, this is one from a while back that I never got around to writing until now.
Another day, another set of buildings to pick through. The Shop-Mart had been hit pretty hard over the past few days, Ian was in the police station with Odeda, the others had wandered off not really saying where they were going, leaving Ivan to his devices. After tooling around, tinkering and modifying some schematics he'd drawn out he began wandering himself.
His wandering brought him to a burned out husk of what appeared to be a public library. Books had once been Ivan's favorite pastime, perhaps some had survived? He pawed through faded, moldy tomes, none were in any condition due to harsh exposures. "Oh vell..." He sighed as he dug deeper into decomposing literature. But there, are the bottom, in some stripe of heavy plasitc bag was a leather bound notebook. He eagerly snatched up the book and found the closest thing to a seat possible before carefully opening the package, fresh air rushing into the package making the paper age visibly, but not enough to destory it. Ivan let out a sigh of relief, what a find!
The book opened up with a creak, Ivan studied it for a while, not seeing any semblance of author, publisher, or title. The entry style suggested to him is may have been someones journal or diary, apparently belonging to someone shortly after the war started. He paused, looking through pages upon pages of inner reflection and observations and he stopped, looking up at the tattered remains of a ceiling structure. Is history not just a collection of such observations? Or are these memories that are not mine? Do I have the right to peer into another's mind? Is there room for such morality in this wasteland?
Ivan pondered these questions, unsure of their answers. Still looking up he closed the book and slipped it into a jacket pocket. He decided not to continue until he could find those answers.
Another day, another set of buildings to pick through. The Shop-Mart had been hit pretty hard over the past few days, Ian was in the police station with Odeda, the others had wandered off not really saying where they were going, leaving Ivan to his devices. After tooling around, tinkering and modifying some schematics he'd drawn out he began wandering himself.
His wandering brought him to a burned out husk of what appeared to be a public library. Books had once been Ivan's favorite pastime, perhaps some had survived? He pawed through faded, moldy tomes, none were in any condition due to harsh exposures. "Oh vell..." He sighed as he dug deeper into decomposing literature. But there, are the bottom, in some stripe of heavy plasitc bag was a leather bound notebook. He eagerly snatched up the book and found the closest thing to a seat possible before carefully opening the package, fresh air rushing into the package making the paper age visibly, but not enough to destory it. Ivan let out a sigh of relief, what a find!
The book opened up with a creak, Ivan studied it for a while, not seeing any semblance of author, publisher, or title. The entry style suggested to him is may have been someones journal or diary, apparently belonging to someone shortly after the war started. He paused, looking through pages upon pages of inner reflection and observations and he stopped, looking up at the tattered remains of a ceiling structure. Is history not just a collection of such observations? Or are these memories that are not mine? Do I have the right to peer into another's mind? Is there room for such morality in this wasteland?
Ivan pondered these questions, unsure of their answers. Still looking up he closed the book and slipped it into a jacket pocket. He decided not to continue until he could find those answers.