۲۶-۰۳-۹۴، ۰۷:۵۳ ب.ظ
The end of the world as we knew it ended on October 13th, 2011. At first, the media declared, “This is just a virus outbreak that’s contained to a little community.” But with more and more media coverage, it was pretty apparent what had happened: Hell had released its demons upon an unexpecting and unprepared world.
The demons varied in shape and size. Some were large and red, while others were small and black. They all had haggard faces that bore an evil grin with massive yellow fangs that liked to slaughter and devour everyone that got in their way.
I, along with four other people, took shelter in Fort Knox. We’ve lived here for six months, and had been commutating with other survivors via ham radio. However, it’s been five months since we’ve heard another voice, and we’re starting to believe that we are the last people alive. Every so often, we venture out for supplies and to see how the demons are doing. They seem to be dying off, but they did spring a surprise attack on us. That’s when they got Harold. I tried to help him, and got scratched badly in the struggle, but the demons were too strong and pulled him from my grasp.
That was two days ago and Duncan, our self-appointed leader, says, “It’s up to us to repopulate the world, and kill off the demons. It’s our only hope.”
“Yeah,” Christy, a thirty year-old former beauty queen, chimed in. She’s had her baby-blue eyes on Duncan since we took refuge.
That leaves me with a big man named Tex. He’s called that because he’s about the size of Texas. Just the thought made me gag a little. But that’s when I realized that the sickness wasn’t from the notion of having Tex on top of me, but from the scratch. It was starting to fester and smell awful. I kept my mouth shut, though, because if the others knew I was changing into a demon they’d throw me out, and more than likely I would starve to death.
So, I sit and wait. I listen to them talk about hope, because as they said, “That’s all we have now, is hope.” I smile and leer at the three of them, as though they were a sixteen-ounce porterhouse with a loaded baked potato on the side. Mmm. The painful, rumbling growl in my stomach is growing, and I feel like I’m going mad with every fucking minute that fucking passes. I can tell that by nightfall, my transformation will be complete and poor Duncan, Christy and Tex will find out the sad fact that there is no such thing as hope.
The demons varied in shape and size. Some were large and red, while others were small and black. They all had haggard faces that bore an evil grin with massive yellow fangs that liked to slaughter and devour everyone that got in their way.
I, along with four other people, took shelter in Fort Knox. We’ve lived here for six months, and had been commutating with other survivors via ham radio. However, it’s been five months since we’ve heard another voice, and we’re starting to believe that we are the last people alive. Every so often, we venture out for supplies and to see how the demons are doing. They seem to be dying off, but they did spring a surprise attack on us. That’s when they got Harold. I tried to help him, and got scratched badly in the struggle, but the demons were too strong and pulled him from my grasp.
That was two days ago and Duncan, our self-appointed leader, says, “It’s up to us to repopulate the world, and kill off the demons. It’s our only hope.”
“Yeah,” Christy, a thirty year-old former beauty queen, chimed in. She’s had her baby-blue eyes on Duncan since we took refuge.
That leaves me with a big man named Tex. He’s called that because he’s about the size of Texas. Just the thought made me gag a little. But that’s when I realized that the sickness wasn’t from the notion of having Tex on top of me, but from the scratch. It was starting to fester and smell awful. I kept my mouth shut, though, because if the others knew I was changing into a demon they’d throw me out, and more than likely I would starve to death.
So, I sit and wait. I listen to them talk about hope, because as they said, “That’s all we have now, is hope.” I smile and leer at the three of them, as though they were a sixteen-ounce porterhouse with a loaded baked potato on the side. Mmm. The painful, rumbling growl in my stomach is growing, and I feel like I’m going mad with every fucking minute that fucking passes. I can tell that by nightfall, my transformation will be complete and poor Duncan, Christy and Tex will find out the sad fact that there is no such thing as hope.
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