User:TaintedCake

The world I remember was a vibrant one. Filled with lush green plants, a beautiful blue sky, white rolling clouds, pure flowing lakes, rivers and oceans. The sun was bright, so bright you couldn't face it’s direction. I could sit in the grass and stare at the sky all day without getting bored. And the stars, oh, those lustful white balls glistening in the coal-black sky that over-casted our beautiful landscape. The night was wonderful. The moon was amazing. It has this glow unlike anything else.

It was also filled with animals. Millions upon millions of animals. Insects, fish, birds, wherever you went, they were there. I can’t remember the last time I saw an animal. I remember the beautiful sweet song the birds would sing every morning. I remember the cicadas and their loud calls on a hot summer’s day. I could remember going fishing with my dad, and getting very excited as I landed an enormous fish; their scales were so rough to the touch. I remember the mosquitoes, buzzing in my ear as I slept and leaving me with itches all over. I am beginning to miss them too.

I remember being fascinated with the way the world worked. I remember walking up to a flower and asking my father, “why does it smell so sweet?” He would reply, “It’s something very special inside the flower, son. It’s called nectar. It attracts the bumble bees so that they can drink it.” “But why would the flowers want a bee to drink them?” I asked, gazing into my father’s gray, all knowing eyes. For a man so young in age, and so alive in spirit, he had the demeanor of a veteran. Having grown through troubled times, he had learned to be humble. This quiet, unshakable man was wise beyond his years. I just wish I knew it while he was still around.

“Well, you see, son, there is something inside the flower called pollen. When a bee drinks nectar from the flower, some of this pollen gets stuck to the bee. Then, the bee flies around and spreads it everywhere. This is how new flowers grow,” my father replied. “Wow!” I replied. “I never knew that bees helped flowers grow!” I exclaimed even more eccentrically. My father let out a sincere laugh. “It’s amazing what this world can teach you, son.” My name is Alexander Stevenson, and I haven’t left my house in 10 years. Every day, I wake up, eat, watch a few movies, and then fall back asleep. My furniture has become my plants. My decorations have become my animals. The peeling paint on my ceiling has become my rolling clouds. Vitamin D pills have become my sunshine. When I turn the lights off, I shine light through a holed piece of paper to make stars. That has become my night time. My father was a very wise man, and I want to believe the things he told me, but for the past ten years, the world has taught me nothing.

The world as I once knew it has gone. The world we once lived in, filled with an ever-growing population... gone. The cause of this? Well, now that you know how our world once was, let me introduce you to our new ‘world’... From the rippling cracks that spread across the pavement and trail ahead in my direction, to the shards of smashed glass and destroyed clusters of brick that hang by strands of stale cement, this is our neighborhood. Paint slowly peeling from the bedded window frame, binding them together. Sounds of footsteps echoing throughout the town square, with shadows lingering behind them as the sounds and figures near my location day by day, night by night.

I’m not sure if I am actually alone, but the emptiness that has anchored itself within our atmospheric void has a different tale to tell – the reasoning behind my loneliness, which to me, feels like the start of a gregarious end. Feels like it was just yesterday... I and my father were walking towards a small play area. Many children were there, and they visited this area almost every day – it varied depending on the weather. I personally quite enjoyed it, even though I was over the specified age to enter. Almost suddenly, but not quite as quick as I thought, there was an abnormal groan that arose from behind one of the three slides that rested atop a small hill.

Being the curious child I was back then, without contemplation I found myself inching towards the slides; without hesitation. One of the smaller children ran up to me, and because his head was facing the opposite direction to mine, he collided with a forceful blow into my posture. The child started to wine, then resulted in an annoying stream of tears, followed by patronizing crying. Almost quicker than a bullet train, from the location of the previous abnormal groaning sound, bolted a man. The man looked as though he hadn't washed or re-clothed for months.

This man had no dignity, nor self-pride. But, saying that, it didn't matter to him... Because this was no man. This was what seemed to be a human being, but with a cannibalistic sense of motivation. The man instantly pinned the pining child down to the ground. He lifted his neck backwards, as his jaw sprung open, and drove his teeth straight into the small child’s neck.

As the man drew back, vague gargles were brewing within the child’s mouth, as gushes of blood streamed from his jugular vein, and turned into a red fountain of a mixture between blood and dirt. As the child’s spasticated body-movement settled down, his head slowly descended to the ground and his skin turned pale. No more sound, movement or signs of life were to be given off by the small kid. It’s as if this man had purposely targeted these children for murder. But what normal human uses their teeth to maul and tear their victims? Evidently this one. But this was no human... This was a creation from Hell. I turned quickly, facing towards my father – I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, until I neared the bench that my father was sat on and screamed with all my might to warn him of the nearing threat.

My father looked at me, and asked in a curious tone “what’s the problem, Alex? These kids too much for ya?” Tears streamed down my petrified face, as I clenched my fists in rage and readied myself to tell my Father what I had just witnessed. “Dad! This isn't a joke, a man just killed a kid! We've gotta go, now!” With a questionable expression quickly invading my father’s face, he looked towards the direction I had just evaded.

“I don’t see what you’re on about buddy? All I see are families having a good time, and not running to their parents making up stories that would worry them for the fun of it. Now, you can continue to play make-believe, or I can take you home. Your choice.” But as soon as my father finished his sentence, a small girl slowly approached the area we were sat in. Being the kind and welcoming man he is, he walked up to her, and in turn, she approached him.

In a soft and subtle voice, he asked “Hey sweetheart, you lost?” But as soon as my father reached out to grab her arm, the little bitch instantly retracted her hand and daggered her teeth into his arm. My father let out a small gasp, and backed away from the small girl. He grabbed my coat, tore the sleeve off, and wrapped it around to contain the amount of blood that was seeping through the deeply severed flesh.

He didn’t shout nor emit any anger towards the girl, but he frightfully told her to go away – his voice wasn't the same. It was as though he was more scared of the girl than he was of bleeding to death. I stood there. Looking into her blood inflamed eyes. She stared right through me, penetrating my spine with her cold-hearted stare, leaving me feeling barren in a trance-like state of mind. Then it happened. The beginning of the chaos that started it all. The beginning of the screams and inhumane slaughter. The beginning of pain and suffering that would cover our small town forcefully... The beginning of the end. I will never forget that day. Parents say to their children that one day their lives will change, but somehow, I don’t think this change was my valid destiny...

I do wonder what will become of me in the future to come, but for now, I’ll continue to live. Continue to survive. As I currently am doing so... Alone. Without a family. No direction to follow. Nothing to live beside.

I keep a diary in my room; each day that I've lived has been recorded down. Each day since the start.

Some people may question how I manage to sustain my sanity? Well, let me tell you - It’s hope. A hope so strong that I treasure so dearly, that maybe one day something will rise from the darkness and make it disintegrate away.

My once bright personality dissolved in the shadows that now plague across our city. My only source of entertainment is my television. I guess that there is one ‘bright’ side to what’s happened... Free electricity. I’m not entirely sure where it’s coming from, or who's monitoring it, but I am just thankful that I still get it. Though it doesn't really matter, because the only shows I can watch are just old re-runs from years ago of silly sitcoms where a man and a woman are constantly at each other's throats, but deep down, you know they're in love. Love no longer remains in this unforgiving life.

I only eat what I can. In my case, this consists of powdered milk and if I’m lucky, I can make use of solitary supplies that my Grandfather kept from his Rationed Food from when he fought in The Great War. This food will never go to waste, as it’s been specifically designed for preservative use. I count the days as they go by each year. Today is day 125 of the year 2022. I have no weapons but an old Revolver that I’m not quite sure still works. The rusted and fatigued barrel has vigorously welded itself together through poor use and mistreatment. A drastically stupid, but logical idea sprung to mind. I sat in my worn out, tainted recliner, seated in deep thought. “Maybe, it’s time to uncover the truth behind the reason to my current lifestyle... Maybe... It’s time to enter the darkness.” I just can’t imagine what would possess me to think such a loathsome thought, yet... It all seemingly made sense. Reaching down to the left of my chair and pulling back the recliner lever, I steadily raised myself up onto my weakened legs and positioned myself to stretch. Taking in a cumbersome breath of relief, I kick off my hole-afflicted slippers, and then make my way towards the bottom of my carpet-less, abolished staircase. Each step on these worn-out oak obstacles sent a patronizing, sharp noise in return, that shot directly through my eardrums, and set off an eruption of audible screeches that led them to the brink of emulating the sensation of blacking out. These stairs have been through countless memories – times that I treasure; times that I wish could be relived.

Snapping out of my subconscious phase, I began striding up into my bedroom, where I kept a variety of basic items, such as clothing and accessories. The thing is... my reason for visiting this part of my home was of no relevance to getting changed, or using additional wear such as hats and ties. No - This was to find the lost piece to my puzzle; the solution to my problem. The fuel to my tank. Ammunition.

My only problem being... How many shells do I have? And another thing – how do I go about unbinding the rusted chamber that this ancient revolver that has anchored itself in? Well, my only method would be hot water, and it’s worth a try, I guess. Entering the Bathroom, I withdrew the aged revolver, and rotated the hot water tap in a clockwise motion. Slowly, clear water began to flow from the stainless-steel appliance.

As the water began to draw to a close, I turned the tap, placing the gun in the scolding water; the steam spat and hissed as the metallic weapon sank into the deadly depths of the lava-like liquid.

Once again, I descended out of the Bathroom, and entered my Bedroom. Searching high and low, under every shelf and counter, looking in drawers and also investigating under my bed, I was determined to uncover the box of .50 caliber shells especially designed for fit of the revolver. These bullets were 93 years old, so some may be unreliable and dubious... Yet, the risk was worth it. The result could either be futile, or work out faultlessly.

After a detailed 17 minutes search, looking through dusty cabinets and wading through once useful junk, I had finally recovered my Grandfather’s ammo stock. My expression transformed into a turn of something somewhat rejoicing, as I had finally found something to grant me a chance of survival; something to hope for.

I read the box ‘120 shells inside. Please handle with cautionary use.’ Acting completely oblivious towards the warning sign, I turned to proceed back into my Bathroom. I'm not sure exactly what it was that made me feel uneasy the most. The fact that I was actually willing to decrease my chances of survival by plunging into the catastrophic world of what was once known as 'earth', which in my eyes now, is only redeemable by the name of 'the demonic anti-earth.' Sure, it's not the most creative name to come to mind, but it'll stick for now - or, the fact that just this very second, I swear I heard the sound of a footstep; an inhuman footstep. A slow, drawn-out footstep; one that echoed throughout my mind, passing through each nerve ending, each electron, and each cell that transfers each fiber of sound directly to my brain.

Reluctantly, I came to the conclusion that it was just due to the age of this house - after all, it has been in the family for five centuries now. This house was however built to stand adamant against any natural disaster that would willingly hurdle itself towards this 'fortress'. Feeling content with this idea in my head, I proceeded back to the revolver, which was now almost completely out of sight due to the shards of rust that rested atop the water's surface; breaking through the wall of rust, my hand darted directly to where I assumed the firearm to be, and as I expected, it was directly in the middle of the sink's base. With a crane-like movement, I splayed my fingers out, and encased the weapon into a fist as I retrieved it almost as fast as I entered.

I observed as the revolver's barrel sprang back, jerking my wrist to the left, revealing six minuscule-sized holes that could home six barren bullets. Whoever the marksman may be, experienced or not, these bloodthirsty pinnacles of lead would spare no life form as it would penetrate each and every muscle fiber, nerve ending, and tear through your flesh as if it were sugar paper. The 50 caliber round would integrate itself with sheer force, obliterating your insides, and tearing you a new asshole the size of Hurricane Katrina's entrance. As I felt how heavy and sturdy this ancient weapon was, I suddenly had a sense of responsibility; a sense of pure power and pride. With this, I told myself, I will prevent any possible threat that I may face from devouring my identity, and not only that, it'll keep my mind from evaporating beyond a place where sanity isn't even elucidate.

Chapter 4: What threat waits for me? Clearing up all the rust-infested water and draining it away, I checked over in my head compulsively what my next move would be, whilst also contemplating a plan. But quite suddenly, my mind created a reference back to the previous sounds of what I thought to be footsteps, because just as I evacuated my mind from thought, I heard it again. This time, it wasn't just one sound. It was a string of them. This set me on high alert, so approaching the bathroom door, I held the revolver directly up in the air, in a kind of stance that you'd see mostly in movies where they're preparing themselves to meet with what lurks on the other side of the door. I hesitated a bit, because my mind heavily protested against the idea, and demanded I climb out the bathroom window and run for it, but my human instinct commanded me otherwise.

Stealthily approaching the door handle, I made sure each step was more careful than the last; placing my heel down first, then descending the pads of my feet silently on to the sturdy, aging-oak floorboards. My heart beat suddenly quickened. Pumping hordes of blood that thrashed against my head, causing the veins in my temples to inflate as my previously calm nerves transitioned to anxiety. My breathing became resistant, as intruding stutters began to flood my pattern, causing my anxiousness to increase dramatically. Finally, the little remains of bravery I had left had decided to take charge, as I found myself witnessing my hand taking lead as it engulfed the circular handle, which felt painfully brisk, emitting chills that penetrated my spine sending wave after wave of blizzard-like sensations that instantly attacked my nerves, causing my breathing to increase to a frantic panicking stage.

Rotating my wrist clockwise, I heard a slight click in the door's opening mechanism, followed by a painful squealing noise as the door gradually crept unhurriedly towards me, half way to reveal what stands on the other side. Just as the door had finished creating a sound that not even an auditory-impaired person could withstand, it came in to contact with the wall to the left of me, creating a small thud as the two met. There, my heart stopped. Stood in front of me, was a tall, human-like figure, which was all I could make out; it was black. Just black. My lifeless body demanded that I moved, but this thing... This thing just stood there. It's blood-red and demonic eyes were staring directly at me, penetrating my inanimate soul. I couldn't think. I couldn't react. Hell, I couldn't even swallow my fear and process what was actually going on, or what was about to happen. It could smell my fear. It could see that it had me right where it wanted me. It didn't even have to move. I was already completely afraid...

Separating the phase from my mind, I did what any other person would have done. I held up the revolver to its face, struggling to maintain my focus, and closed my eyes. I took in a large dose of breath, then with a sigh, exhaled in despair. Not even being able to concentrate on my actions, I applied all of my pressure on the trigger. This trigger is my ticket to get out of this situation. This trigger is my savior. If I mess this up now, there's no going back, so I better get it right on the first try.

I pulled the trigger. To my horror, all I heard was a simple click. Again, anxiousness flooded my entire body, taking over every action that I made, and how I reacted. I thought to myself, this really isn't how I wanted it to go. I looked around, making one last attempt at finding an instrument that may be able to assist me; nothing. Absolutely jack shit. But then, to the left of the figure, I saw an emergency fire blanket. I slowly engaged my legs again, taking back my control, and raised it to position myself for a runner. My arms extended outwards, but the beast lashed out at me, following up with blood-curdling groans that appalled me; I placed both of my hands straight out in front of me, placing them central to the figure's posture, thus knocking its shoulders and sending it several meters back. I took advantage of the very little time I had, and attempted to withdraw the blanket from the flimsy plastic box that it was encased within. As I did this, the figure struggled to arise to its weary legs, but just before it could succeed, I wrapped the blanket around it's horrifically blood-caked face, which had dry strands of rotten flesh that hung from it's facial features, with the consistency of leather. As I did this, the figure stumbled backwards, struggling to maintain its balance, and tumbled straight down my staircase. A huge sigh of relief washed over me. Jesus, that was fucking close, I told myself. As the figure rolled down the stairs, each oak-wooden step it collided with gave out a painful sounding ca-rack, which left me wondering whether it was the stairs or perhaps its spine coming in to contact with the unforgiving, rectangular set of aged-oak platforms.

This was my very first encounter with one of the plague's descendants, where adrenaline has injected itself within my body to aid my mind into accepting this situation, and to combat the uneasy feeling I'm receiving from this surrealistic circumstance.

I need to leave; they know where to find me now. There's nothing left for me here but haunting memories which cause me to reminisce, flooding my mind - this could become a heavy distraction, and I need to survive. I need to grab my supplies - anything I can carry - and just get the fuck out of here. I need to continue living and fight for my survival until the inevitable bitter end, because giving up isn't an option. No, I will continue to live for my father... it's what he would have wanted.