Smoke still litters the sky from the day of The Accident. It was an accident… that’s what our government officials tell us at least. Now they’ve all fallen silent. I step onto the road out of the city, the gravel crunching beneath my weathered crocs.
My red backpack with the faded JanSport logo weighs so much. I suppose it makes sense, for I collect the bones that litter the streets from the night before. I feel, as one who is still alive, it’s my responsibility to give them a proper burial. The sun is hot today. I adjust my hat and keep walking, switching my backpack to one arm.
Untouched unbroken skyscrapers stretch up behind me. I used to dream of going to the big city, but now I dread it. Too many dead bodies.
The backpack doesn’t belong to me, at least, it didn’t before “The Accident”. Maybe it belonged to a little girl, since all I found inside was a doll without an arm, stuffing falling out, when I first saw it on the street. I buried the doll too.
I’m tired of being alone. The world is so silent. Is this gods plan? Is this how it would always go in the end?
Glancing at the dull blue sky, I switch my backpack to my other arm, and start to jog. Shit, it’s getting dark. Dark storm clouds cover the sun but I can tell I only have an hour (at most) before night falls.
I begin to run, the perfect flawless unbroken city blurring in my eyes as I sprint home. I don’t even know anymore if it’s because I’m crying or running. Probably both. Just keep running, just keep going.
None of the beautiful structures got ruined when everyone fell ill. During the day, the world is a clean slate, empty. The whole world is a ghost town. My house is up ahead, and when I reach it I gasp for air. The sun is almost gone.
Rain begins to drizzle down from the sky.
I skip a step when running up the porch stairs and the wood creaks under my weight. I’ll have to replace that soon.
Click! I shut and lock my door behind me just in time to hear the wailing filling the streets. The drizzle turns heavier and louder.
At first people thought it was sad ghosts. Now there’s no one around to make any theories about it. I’m not brave enough to look outside from my window and know the truth. I don’t want to know the truth.
Letting my backpack slip off my back to the ground, I notice a small hole in the bag. C’mon seriously? I’ll have to stitch it up before I let myself sleep. And I have to clean the bones. And dinner, I need that. I sigh as I make a mental list for myself to do.
For a moment, I imagine myself as a child here, running to my room, braids swinging behind me, laughing. Those days are long gone. Now the house is cold, quiet, and devoid of life.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll stay out past dark and succumb to the illness, I think, even knowing that there’s no truth in thoughts like that. It’s more of a fantasy, really.
But still, it’s only a matter of time before they get me too.
