I've been writing short stories for a while now and in my opinion i have now wrote my "Masterpeice." Have a look and tell me what you think. Don't be too harsh , i can't take much abuse. Anyway this is sort of my take on the fight club film and book. By the way this is my work i have not taken it from anyone else, i've been told i have a gift. People need to stop kissing my ass.

Public Announcement
Chapter 1

I stare into the dark abyss that was once New York, the tall buildings that had men and women working hard for stuff they don't need but want, dark green vines climb and spiral the cracked walls of the hives that inhabited worker bees. Wild animals graze in the tall grass which was once central park, the landmark turned in to a forest where nature is king. No more concrete jungles, the concrete has been overrun with weeds and insects.

Broken cars are scattered across New York, flat tires, broken windows, steam spewing out of the grills. Nice cars too, people had worked most of their lives to buy these nice cars and apartments, now what is it worth? Millions of dollars of shit just left to collect dust, people cherished this crap, and they only bought this stuff because TV told them too. TV is useless now, no more anorexic super models invading my flat screen or rappers filling my ears with verbal diarrhoea. The supermodels and rappers and all other celebrities are all dead now, their only purpose is to rot and sink into the ground where they can become part of the earth. Now they are truly poisoning the earth, their cocaine filled guts now become a part of the soil, the earth has become overrated.

Sky Scrapers crumble, striped down to their metal skeleton. I can see the tall fat building I used to work in, it sways side to side loosening the metal frame. The middle part of the east side cracks, the building topples east sending desks and computers and filling cabinets crashing out of the dusty windows. The building hovers over a museum for a second as it crashes down crushing paintings and so-called works of art, rubble and grey smoke spread out covering the near buildings in a blanket. It was funny, I once dreamed of destroying a museum with something I hated, a dream come true, two birds with one stone. I smiled and almost forgot that civilisation had come to an end.

All of this, the dark abyss and forgotten buildings, was not my doing, not gods doing. He did this, the man who used to be my best friend, he destroyed mankind, but maybe I helped, I had a chance to stop him. But stopping him after we both made those public announcements would make me quite a hypocrite. Maybe I couldn't stop him, he could have easily killed me, he had a gun, and all he had to do was put it to my head and pull the trigger. I welcomed death before I met Tyler.

As I wonder around the ruins of New York I think to myself where he might be, he didn't die with everyone else, he was with me, and he was safe. His plans had worked; his so-called dreams had come true. Well he could be dead, anything could have happened to him, that building could have crushed him or a large piece of rubble could have hit him. I chuckle as I think of the slapstick ways he could have died, laughter is the perfect medicine. I think I've gone insane; to laugh at a time like this isn't very "sane". I don't care anymore though, what's the point in caring when you're the last man on earth, a nobody, is now the king of the world, and he doesn't give a shit. I can do whatever I like and all I fell like doing is dying. I wish I was killed with everybody else, such a sweet relief it would have been.

I should be scared in a situation like this, but I'm not, I'm at peace, I shouldn't be at peace I should be on my knees crying into the palms of my dirty, cracked hands. I want to run forever and never stop, I want to breath hot smoke, I want to lose control and destroy the things that don't matter anymore, but I don't, I just calmly wonder aimlessly stepping on the rotten bodies of the dead. That's what the floors had become, layers of rotten dead bodies, a horrible disgusting cushion. I am king and I walk in comfort, in life these people didn't give a shit about me but in death they bow down to me, their bodies cushioning my steps. In the world before I wouldn't step on rotten dead bodies I'd avoid the rotting corpses in any way possible, but it doesn't matter now no one is going to judge me, because there is no one.

Global warming, terrorism, murder, none of this matters anymore, nothing matters anymore. My destroyed condo doesn't matter anymore, my mom and dad don't matter anymore, the president doesn't matter anymore, Starbucks doesn't matter anymore, and Tyler doesn't matter anymore. I am now mentally destroying myself. Nice cars don't matter anymore; money doesn't matter anymore, Aids doesn't matter anymore, TV doesn't matter anymore, music doesn't matter anymore, my boss doesn't matter anymore, food doesn't matter anymore, life doesn't matter anymore, and Tyler doesn't matter anymore. I am now mentally destroying myself and Tyler wouldn't miss this for the post-apocalyptic world.

Then I awaken from my deep disturbing sleep. His hands wrap around my throat, my muscles swell and shrink, cold air seeps through a broken window covering me and Tyler in an ice cold blanket. Sweat drips down my forehead and trickles down my nose; it ends up as a puddle in Tyler's tight hard grasp. My brain realises I'm being choked and sets my limp body into panic mode. I'm shaking, my fingers flicker and hook around each other. My lips tremble, my nose starts to bleed and the stitches on my forehead come lose spewing warm blood down my face. Tyler just smiles, he bites his lip, patiently waiting for me to die. My eyes roll back and my head tilts right, I'm telling myself I'm going to die, this is it, sweet relief, I feel my soul ripping though layers of flesh, trying to escape.

But no, his hands slowly slide away from my neck, my soul dives back into my body, my eyes roll forward so I can see Tyler's smirking smile, his dirty chipped teeth showing. I breathe in all the air in the room, and slump down off the chair and on to the cold marble floor. I'm in a large room with large floor to ceiling glass windows. Tyler is looking outside, he sits on a table and places his feet on a blue plastic chair. I can barley speak; my throat feels like it's collapsed in on itself, I put up the effort to lighten the mood, "comfy?" I hold my throat as it swells and tightens, maybe I shouldn't have spoken, it hurts more than ever now.

Tyler turns his head and smiles, his eyes half closed. He's chewing on a piece of gum. In his right hand he holds a pistol; he twirls it around on his finger like some sort of sick demented cowboy. He chose to choke me when he could have put that gun to my head; he must really have it in for me. And he used to be such a nice guy. "I wanted to show you what dying is like, you know, so you're prepared. Nothing personal, really I was helping you. A little harsh I know, but it was worth it right? Now you can stop wondering what its like to become a corpse." He jumps up of the table and stares out the window with his left hand pressed against the crisp glass. Tyler scratches his head with the barrel of the gun, his finger slides of the trigger so he doesn't blow his head off.

I push my self up from the cold hard floor and stagger over to Tyler. It even hurts to walk now, my whole body aches, my legs are burning. The sweat from my forehead cools me down for a while, then its back to aching and burning. It hurts to talk, but I've got to know, "what are we doing Tyler?" That hurt, five words and my throat tore itself apart. I'm a mess, a bloody, dirty mess; Tyler's lessons always end up hurting me, him, or someone else. "You should know. We did this together, didn't we?" His lips slowly move as he talks, he knows I'm barely conscious, he wants me to understand every word that comes out of his retched mouth. Tyler never takes his eyes of the building in front of us. Tyler and I are 900 feet above the earth. I stare at Tyler with a puzzled look on my bloody face, "Did we?"
"Yea we did, Jesus what the fuck is wrong with you, I nearly choked you to death and your half asleep? You should be fully awake, ready to take on the world. Like a soldier sent into battle. Wake up and take it all in."

A loud beep fills the room; I jump and look around franticly. Tyler pulls a pager out of his stonewashed jeans, BOMBS ARE SET. Tyler smirks and flips the pager around in his hand. He places it down on the table. "Bombs are set." He laughs loudly, screaming in my face, the gum in his mouth fly's out onto my lap, Disgusting.
"Bombs? What Bombs? You're not killing people are you? Fuck, what the hell is wrong with you Tyler?"
"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! What's wrong with you? We both did this! You thought it through and I put it into motion, so don't blame me." Tyler's face scowling at me; he lifts the gun and aims it out the window. "That's our target. The world is out target. But before we take the world we need to take something smaller first." His head quickly turns to the side; he continues to stare at the building in front. He doesn't move, he just stares, only blinking when his eyes begin to water. I sit down on the blue plastic chair and just wait for something to happen, after all, anything can happen when Tyler is behind it.

His pager beeps making me jump again. Tyler quickly picks it up off the table. He's eager. I lean over to read. FIVE MINUTES. Tyler swings his head to the side so he's facing me. "Speaks for itself doesn't it?" Tyler licks his lips and pulls on his white vest. I Sit and stare at him, he looks at me with a grim look, a smile appears on his face as he walks away to the back of the room. He aims the gun at the window I'm sitting by. His finger pulls the trigger three times; the bullets hit the window making veins of cracked glass shoot in all directions. I jump off the plastic chair and lie on the cold marble floor, my hands behind my head. Tiny shards of glass land on my back and head, cutting the back of my hands. I lift my head up with my jaw hanging down; I start to shout forgetting that my throat is still swollen and sore. "Stop shooting! Please! I don't want this! I don't want any of this! I don't want me or anyone else to die tonight! Okay Tyler?" My throat pulses and swells and opens and closes. I clutch my neck gently and slowly put my head to the ground. I hear Tyler's footsteps getting louder and louder until his feet stop by my head. He kneels down and puts his lips to my ear.
"This is announcement number one. You are going to die someday. You might die in your sleep when your eighty years old. You might get beaten to death. You might get stuck under the wheels of a large truck. You might get struck by lightning. Anything can happen. It's just a matter of time." Tyler grabs my arm and tugs on it. I push his hand away and stand up; Tyler is pushing on the cracked window. "Help me push this thing out man." I Storm at the window and violently swing my right leg at it. My large black boots bang off the hard glass, my leg vibrates. I don't shout or scream, I just let out a hum of pain. Tyler laughs loudly and clutches his stomach, "Nice job."

The cracked window sails down into the night, no one's about; no one is ever about at 3 am. Tyler looks at me, putting his left hand on my right shoulder. "We're making history my friend. This shit will be remembered, the people that die in that building are not innocent. They're corporate monsters, making money so they can buy useless crap; they hunt animals for sport and make young Chinese children work in sweat shops. For what?! This is all bullshit! No one is innocent! Not me! And not you! We all deserve to die." This is Tyler, in all his glory. The three minutes is up. Is it time to die already? For me dying is easy. Caring about it is what's hard.