Thomas Busteed

[Poopship]

          In a dank room there is a man with a 12 'o' clock shadow and a soul patch wearing a musty black trench coat, wearing combat boots. He looks tall, a bit taller then 6 feet. He is encompanied by a woman wearing a brown trench coat, relatively clean. She has a mexi-stash and a long black hair down to her elbows. She has blue eyes just like the man. They were having a subpar snack when she started asking about his childhood.

           'So, Thomas. What was it like when you were growing up?" Jessica inquires.


           "First of all, I was a born, of course, then I guess I grew up, in your average apocolyptic fucked up world, with a few siblings, Jessica-- just like you, Brad, and Mitch. My parents raised me the best they could so I was a pretty good kid back in the time. When I was about, 12 my dad gave me his .22 pistol to practice. He didn't use it anymore. It didn't have that much of a kick, but when I was a kid it scared me. Me and my brother Mitch were pretty tight, we usually got into mischief together but it never ended badly --Well, not "hurt" bad. Sometimes we were grounded, not able to go outside. My sister Jessica was kind of a jerk to me, she would never tell a lie to mom to cover my ass, now I don't really care, I just want her back. Same with Brad and Mitch."

        Thomas continues. "You know what? Fuck my childhood, I don't feel comfortable telling you about it. The reason I am here is because, I had a family a few years back and my sons, daughters, wife, mom, and dad were killed by fuckin' mutants, it was terrible. I wasn't there at the time, I was walking home from a long journey to a trader and I saw the shack I was in on fire, with my daughters being dragged, my father was fuckin' shot in the head. It was all just horrible, I forgot what I could and the rest will be in my head forever. The scars won't go away. They will always be there I just pretend they aren't."


Zoom out, rotate 180, pan to moon, zoom in, sparkle
To be continued.