This Is What's Left

Chapter 1, The Pre-game Show

"Every Moment is a Fresh Beginning"

T.s Eliot

-Jacob-

As a kid growing up throughout the 2000's, My Generation was obsessed with the end times. Through media, or making the world believe that the end of days had arrived. I was five years old when Y2k occurred, the perceived thought that as the new century crossed into existence humanity would be snuffed out. In 2010 the world was expected to end according to a prediction by the hermetic order of the golden dawn in the early 1900's. In 2011 Comet Eileen was expected to end the world, the Mayan calendar predicted the end on December 21st of 2012. Between 2014 and 2015 the Blood Moon Prophecy was another screaming headline; the beginning of the end.

But, of course, this had never happened. These days pass in history with no cataclysmic event, no widespread destruction hitherto unheard of by modern time. It was just another Tuesday in the grand scheme of the world.

This event, however, is not just any other day. With the sun rising on our world, the beginning of the end had truly begun, and we hadn't the faintest idea that this was to come. No prophecy, no madman claiming that this was the end.

It Just Happened.

On January fourth of 2021, as a new year had just dawned, a new vaccine for the common cold passed its initial health testing and began human trials. Unbeknownst to the world at the time, the virus that mutated in response would have the capabilities to cripple the world.

The virus was resistant to standard medication, and had no response to any prescription drug. It spread like a lit match on gasoline, and as prepared as we thought we were, the lack of a structured support system resulted in our nation crumbling.

97 days. After the first reported case on national news, it took 97 days for the news to go down entirely. In 30, we had rioting, looting, and fighting in the streets. In 60, the national armed forces were gone, with a detachment still holding itself together in Tennessee, last we heard.

Mom died on day 21, the fever taking her early, as there was an epidemic at the nursing home she worked at. My younger sister, Bailey, and I, we were some of the few who were resistant to the virus. Dad left on day 124, and he won't be back.

It's day 177. Life had irreversibly changed. We found my life-long friend, Amber Murphy, who had also survived the initial collapse, and the three of us had been doing our best to keep things together.

Our world, it's just not the same. Back before the shit-show that we have somehow clawed our way through, a nasty cut was some stitches, maybe an antibiotic to be safe, and that was all. Today? A cut could mean sepsis, a cut could mean a blood trail as whatever cut you kept coming.

Things are just different. They probably won't ever be the same.

But, I should take a quick step back. Bailey is 9 years old, turning 10 in December. Amber is 22, turning 23 in on july 15th, which, if my math is correct, is in two weeks. And lastly, My names Jacob Monroe, and this is what's left of the world.

Our biggest problem these days comes with supplies, as finding-

I was pulled from what I was writing to a commotion in the other room. I tossed the leather-bound journal and left the room. What was once my bedroom had become a supply room, the forest green walls stacked with boxes of miscellaneous supplies. In one corner, we had medical supplies. Pills were hard to come by, but supplies like bandages were easier.

The entire south wall was stacked with packages of water of any kind, with a crate of kool-aid and it's many off-brands sitting to the side of it. The wall for food, however, was looking rather sparse. Crammed into the closet, which had since had it's shelves removed, was a small desk and chair, where I had been writing and where I keep the log of what we have and what we need.