The Beginning of The End

Move constantly. Never stay in one place for more than a day.

Keep your head down, don’t mix with other survivors.

Stay hidden. Don’t let them spot you.

Stay away from cities.

Don’t take unnecessary risks.

The world ended mid April, civilisation as we knew it was never the same again, some say that the gates of hell opened and swallowed everything in its path; and I can’t say that they are entirely wrong. Electricity was the first thing to go, the first step in their plan to make humanity their slaves, and they had help; covens of fae joined them, buying into the promise of ruling over the mundane. No one knows how they did it, but all at once, all over the world everything just … stopped. Cars wouldn’t start, lights wouldn’t turn on, fighter plains couldn’t defend countries from the onslaught that would follow. Even people’s tired generators that they used in their small cabins in the woods wouldn’t turn over. It was as though technologically had abandoned the human race.

People panicked, rushing to supermarkets and stealing as much as they could carry, bunkering down in their homes and boarding the windows. News spread fast that this was no accident, that someone was attacking; but no one knew who, or why.

That was the plan I suppose, without tv, phones or the internet, no one would know what was coming until it was too late. But my dad knew, he had been part of one of the covens that joined the dark ones, one of the few that had turned and ran before things got serious, though my mother wasn’t one of them. She was less fortunate. I don’t remember what was next, whether it was the hounds of hell or the virus that killed those who had blood disorders, I don’t think anyone really knows.

Some say that only half the population has gone, but I know it’s much more than that, their aren’t many free folk left. Though that’s because their isn’t many people at all. I can see them sometimes, their rotting corpses filling the roads between towns, families that have died of starvation in their homes, even those that didn’t want to face reality and committed suicide in the first days of the end. But those aren’t the ones that make my skin crawl, that place is reserved for the ones with only chunks of flesh left of their bones, the ones drained of blood and the ones who’s skin has turned green and blotchy from the virus. Those are the ones that make me want to empty what little I have in my stomach across the road.

It’s the ones that constantly move that survive, the ones that don’t look for trouble and turn the other way when there are signs of other people. It’s harder living alone, but it’s the best way, you have no one to slow you down, eat what little food you manage to salvage, and put your life at risk when they are tired. I had my dad once, months ago, but the hounds found us and he told me to run, and even as I regret it to this day, the sounds of them tearing away his flesh. I am glad I did.

I didn’t want to die, not at nineteen, I still had years ahead of me if I played my cards right, if I stick to the rules and stay away from people.

I’m fae like my dad, but his power was based on the earth, mine is a little different, he always said I had a strong mind and he was right. I can move things with a single thought, lift and throw objects that weigh more than I do, hear the thoughts of humans; even stop someone from moving if needed. I have had to use it a few times, when people have tired to take what supplies I have, when their intentions have been to violate or kill me.

I’ve never killed, dad didn’t want me to become a monster like those I run from, but I’ve incapacitated people long enough for me to get away unharmed. I’ve frozen their bodies and then rendered them unconscious, or sprained one of their legs to make them slower. I wasn’t exactly proud of the things I have had to do, but survival isn’t always pretty, you have to make tough decisions, ones that wouldn’t have even crossed your mind in the days before the end. But things change, and survival is becoming more difficult with each day that passes.

It’s winter now, the air is bitter and icy, the snow has fallen heavily over the last several days and coats the ground like a blanket of death. Snow complicates things, it allows people to trace your steps, see where you have been. The depth makes you slower and you have to stop more, build more fires to fight off the chill.

was close to a small town, maybe half a days walk if the signs were correct and the snow melted in the night. But, I wouldn’t make it today, my legs were trembling and my back screamed for relief from the heavy hikers backpack I carried.

The world ended, but here am i fighting on, but for what?

What's the point?