I was alone. I spent most of my time alone. Not because I couldn’t make friends, but because no one would understand. I stood alone in the hallway, letting people who were full of life push and shove me. I saw the bricks slam bodies to the ground and people trampled to the floor. I saw faces streaked with tears and heard painful screams cry out loud. The last person full of life stood 20 feet away from me. I watched her die and heard her scream for me. But I didn’t budge. My eyes refused to water and my legs refused to move. When the Morts left I stood where I started. The dead was all around me. I was the last alive, which was a shame seeing I wouldn’t do anything amazing with my life. That’s what I thought then. But now is now and the dead need my life more than anything.
I think back to this day a lot. But I know there wasn’t anything I could have done accept watch and take in what was around me. It’s not that I didn’t feel bad for the life that was being stolen around me. I did and I think about my family a lot. Well my fake family. My real family died 3000 years ago, because of the same thing. I have been the only one to live through all of it. The other 4 died off 500 years ago, the last time this happened. Now the Morts walk among me and I’m the only one left. The only one alive.
