New Times in New Orleans

New Times in New Orleans

New Orleans, 1990. It was supposed to get better. Two decades of politicans, all promising improved quality of life had come and gone. And nothing had happened. The industry had moved on to greener pastures leaving the city a haunted husk of what it had once been. The crime rate spiked in the late 80s, the shadows grew darker, the richer got richer and the poorer got poorer. It seems like the crack epidemic of the 70s just never stopped. People started disappearing and most didn’t seem to care. Most were just trying to get on with their lives in this dark world. Suicide-rates have skyrocketed. Or well… people looking like they committed suicide have. Some of us fought back. Most of us died. A few of us ended up institutionalized, and a few…. a few became the thing we fear the most. Forget COPS. Forget Miami Vice and 21 Jump Street. There is no glory in this. No recognition from anyone but other followers of the vigil. If you can sleep at night, knowing what’s out there. Knowing what is gnawing at the world and slowly taking it apart, then you are no better than the monsters. An accessory to murder, aiding and abetting the things that go bump in the night.

The darkness is out there. It calls to you. You can’t turn away now. For better or worse, you’re part of the world. You can either light a candle and fight the darkness, carrying on your lonely vigil, or you can waste away into nothing, slowly going insane as the monsters claw at your mind…

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MarkJoergensen

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