Survivor: A short Story

I can’t remember how many days has passed since it began. I remember back to when it all started, the media was reporting random acts of violence in the middle of the day. People violently attacking each other for no rhyme or reason. Even after they killed them, the assailants would still beat the lifeless bodies, their bodies stained red with the blood of their victims. No one knew how it spread so quickly. Perhaps it was airborne or it spread through the water, but it remains a mystery to everyone. It was isolated in the cities for the longest time as authorities tried to suppress the spread of this ‘madness’. As time went on, the cities burned passionately for weeks as the militia lost control. But it was not long before it spread beyond the cities. Even the most desolate locations of our country has become overrun with madness.

What people who survived the initial chaos tried to band together, to protect themselves and try to outlast the madness. But even the most fortified strongholds eventually fell as the madness infiltrated their breaches, taking over their citizens one by one. I have found that it is safer to travel by myself, only stopping to rest as I search for sanctuary.

But now, I find myself at the end of the line. Searching for supplies in a ravaged super market, a group of the afflicted has me trapped in a storage room. The room is sparse, a few empty boxes and tables decorate the room. The sounds of my exhausted breath and the afflicted’s screaming fill the air around me. The only thing that separates me from them is a steel plated door with an old water heater and a few shopping carts blocking it. Searching my belongings, I only have one or two cans of food, half a bottle of water, and two bullets left. There isn’t way I can survive in here for more than a day, and I can’t kill all of them. I know that they will eventually make their way through the door, and then they will be upon me. I don’t see any other choice.

Reaching for my revolver, I fondle its cold steel one last time, thinking back to every time I had to use it. It has saved my life more times than I can count, and it seems only fitting that it ends it. The door in front of me creaks as the afflicted slowly work their way through. I load my last two bullets into the revolver, pulling the hammer tight. Placing the barrel in my mouth, I try to think of the last peaceful moment before this hellish nightmare began. Pulling the trigger, I beg god for forgiveness.

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