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August 27th 2005, the day that changed the face of the world forever.
At 2.17pm, 6 billion lives were ended in a matter of seconds.
A bio-weapons experiment gone wrong, that’s what they said it was.
Some say it was God, punishing those who did not follow him.
If there was a God, he would’ve killed us all at once, not reduced us to this.
I don’t know why I am alive. There was nothing special about me.
I wasn’t particularly bright, I’m not very athletic, I’m just like any other guy,
and I did what any other guy would do. Try to survive.
During the day I hunt, scavenge empty homes for food, try to keep my mind active. Sometimes
I find bodies, sometimes I don’t. Enough time has passed for most of the bodies
to decay; all that’s left is bones, echoes of a once great civilisation.
I keep away from the cities, tribal gangs, and animals rule there now.
Before the power went out I heard something about a resistance, a group of people taking
shelter in the sewers, but that’s all ***, nothing can survive down there.
I travel light, only carrying a lighter, a knife, some tins, a picture of my family and
a gun. I’m trying to make my way north, to higher
ground. I don’t know why, all that awaits is more
death, more hunger, more regret. I cry a lot.
Sometimes I wish I had a companion, someone to talk to.
At night, as I sit by the fire, I think of my family. I remember how I ran home from
school after the great death. I sat on my doorstep for hours, waiting for
my parents to come home, waiting for them to tell me what to do next.
But they never came. Hunger drove me to the forests; I lived off
of insects and foxes for several months. I learnt how to survive.
My brain works like clockwork now, I get up early, cover the fire from the previous night,
search houses for supplies, eat, sleep, wake up and repeat the process.
Sometimes I meet a wanderer, that’s what I call ‘em.
People who aimlessly walk for miles, no goal, no purpose.
The majority ignore me, or dismiss me as a figment or their imagination.
Some of them are full of anger, and try to hurt me. I do what I have to.
Each day the nights grow colder, the sky turns greyer, I grow hungrier.
My biggest asset is my biggest curse; my age. At the time of the great death, I was 10 years
old. I don’t know how old I am now; I do not
keep a calendar. My youth allows me to be light on my feet.
I can run, hide, and learn new skills. However; every day feels like an eternity,
and I know that I have many more days to come. The concept of suicide has, of course, crossed
my mind many a time. But I have ended too many lives, I do not
want to end any more. The great path of life rolls onward and I
look at it with a sense of uncertainty. But there is one word that resonates through
my mind, one goal, one thing that I must hold on to.
Survival.