In the Post Apocalyptic United States, the remaining industrial cities of the North trade with the last regions of arable land in the South. No one can sleep, everyone does speed, on these Drug Trains rolling up and down the ruined highways, byways, and wrong ways. -- Deathshead419
[AN: Humans can not stay awake forever. It has mental consequences]
Humanity cannot end the world. Humanity can only end itself. In the era of devastation, it came pretty darn close, I tell you what. Long story short, shit's fucked, and the people who did it are dead. Leaving folks like me holding the bag. Or... steering wheel, as it happens.
They call me Red-eye. I'm a Hauler.
See... there's places folks can live, these days, and places food can grow. And thanks to whatever fucked up these proud states, never the twain shall meet. Well. Not since the Event.
There's hardly any records of what happened, by now. Most of what's left is both sides blaming each other and doing shit-all to fix the actual problem. All we know is that those who got the most blame got got by the Event.
Serves 'em right.
Now those of us who are left have to be awake twenty-four-seven. Those in charge of things have banned sleep.
Yes. They. Banned. Sleep.
Those of us on the road are taking everything we can just to stay awake. Those of us working the field Waldo-bots are doing the same. There's a thriving drug market for uppers and a whole bunch of legalised mental accelerants that can keep a person awake and functioning until clock-off time. Or until the 'functioning' part can't hold up any more.
We're expected to work on other important things, like making sure there's another generation to keep the whole cycle going.
Those in charge can expect all they like. Sure, some of us get our screwing in... but the rest? Well.
We do something illegal.
Now that the powers that be have banned sleep, there's inspectors everywhere looking for beds, hammocks, pillow pits, couches and so on. Making certain nobody sleeps.
And like anything that's banned, there's secret places to get it.
When it was booze, there were speakeasies. When it was drugs, there were drug dens. When it was hormone replacements, there were interesting mailing lists with discrete packaging for the orders.
Now that resting is illegal? There's Sleep-Easies.
They masquerade as bawdy houses, and all the bedmates available will testify that they did the deed if they catch you there. Not that the inspectors will catch you there.
They go to those places to sleep, too.
[Photo by Hal Gatewood on Unsplash]
If you like my stories, please Check out my blog and Follow me. Or share them with your friends! Or visit my hub site to see what else I'm up to.
My Prompt Forum is currently down, but if you want to send me a prompt, post it on my Discord's emergency prompt supply.
