CONTENT/TRIGGER WARNING:
Mentions of death, graphic death, violence, blood & gore, mild language.
Garrett shuffled back, as the tiny people hissed at him. His arm throbbed, fresh blood leaking out of the raw, mottled wound.
The leader of the group stepped forward, flexing its tiny but deadly claws. Garrett choked on a sob, scrambling backwards. It was no use; the rest of his body was no better than his arm. He fell over with a pained cry, eyes darting as he tried to refocus on the creatures in front of him.
He was going to die, wasn't he?
"Please," He begged, hot tears trailing down his cheeks, overlapping the old ones. "Don't kill me, I-I didn't do a-anything..."
To deserve this, his mind finished, as his voice failed him, and he collapsed into a ball of sorrow.
"I don't wanna d-die..." He mumbled, feeling a brief wave of exhaustion brushing through him. "I-I'm too young!"
He felt hysteria bubble up in his choked-up throat, before dying down again, replaced by silent sorrow.
Humanity had really screwed up, hadn't they?
The scientists experimented on life, modifying human embryos to create smaller, sentient lifeforms. They enhanced them, strengthened them.
And then, the creations turned on their creators.
It was a massacre. The tiny creatures were like piranhas, slowly, brutally tearing the flesh off of bone, until only the skeleton remained. And nowhere was safe from creatures that could fit through any gap, and rip through metal like it was nothing but paper.
The once bustling cities became wastelands of skeletal figures. The remaining humans were slowly dwindling, and soon, there'd be no one left.
Garrett's family had fallen victim soon after they had showed up. Garrett still had nightmares weeks after their deaths, his brother's half-torn face, bloodied and almost unrecognizable.
He had laid there, in a pool of his own, dried blood, with his mouth half open in a look of shock, his glazed eyes still distantly looking towards what used to be their mother. Not too far away was his father. His poor baby sister hadn't even been three months old, and her tiny skeleton hadn't been spared by the monsters.
She hadn't even managed to cry.
Garrett had given them a proper burial, the best he could do. A few dandelions and slightly dried roses were placed on their graves, before he fled the city in their small, beat-up car. It was then, in that moment, in which he learned how to drive, at the ripe age of 11 years old.
Now, he was 13, and he wasn't ready to go out.
He sat there, curled up in a pitiful ball, surrounded by killers, like wolves, ready to pounce and tear apart their prey with swift brutality.
Yet, they hadn't.
Garrett glared at them, feeling more thick, hot tears build up in his eyes. "What's with the hold up?" He demanded, his voice cracked and raw, his breaths short and pained. "Get it over with a-al-already."
The leader approached, and Garrett flinched away. The monster was going to kill him, and he'd be nothing more than another skeleton; one death in billions, that no one would know about.
It made him feel, ironically, so much smaller than the man-eaters in front of him.
The leader growled something at him, an animalistic noise, and Garrett backed away. But this time, the leader didn't step forward again. Instead it just growled again, making Garrett scramble back again.
