The Corner

Dispatches From Sequesteria

Day One, A.S., in what was once the capital city of a mighty empire. The Provisional Authority has set up Sequestervilles along the Mall, a labyrinth of clapboard and cardboard and canvas that will swallow you up if you aren’t careful.

The smells.

At night, the sounds.

Some of us from NRO were assigned to a cluster of hovels and lean-tos that has come to be called Ezra’s Alley. Others of us are acres away, on a strip they call Boehner’s Run. Still others are unaccounted for. 

There is word of potable water and even some fuel on the other side of the river. But all of the crossings are controlled by the warlords of Alexandria and their confederates. From the tales told of their depravity, you’d rather drown than be taken alive. 

We may yet have to chance it. Another journalist — was I a journalist? Am I one now? — another journalist, he was hit in the leg during the disturbances in Foggy Bottom and the wound will not close. 

I will not allow myself the luxury of hope. This is all that is real now. They tore a piece of the world off and we survivors are forsaken to wander the 98.5 percent of it that’s left. 

I pray you are safe and will send word when next I can.


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