ᖭི༏ᖫྀ
desolation: a state of complete emptiness or destruction.
anguished misery or loneliness.
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"Ellie frowned at my refusal to shake her hand. I sensed her following me into the bar, and my emotions were bubbling over, threatening to erupt. I wan...
4 years later - January, 2038 - Rock Springs, Wyoming
warnings: this chapter contains mentions of self-inflected injury, its a brief description but if this bothers you please skip the paragraph that starts with a bold asterisk, *like this
⋆⭒˚.⋆ Natalie - 18 yrs old⋆⭒˚.⋆
The morning sun grazed my cheeks, and a faint smile found its way to my lips. Despite temperatures lingering around 5-10 degrees Fahrenheit during winter in Wyoming, it felt good to be outdoors. The underground bunker I had called home for too long housed a generator and a working heater, but gas was a precious commodity these days. So, to be safe, I gathered firewood, stockpiling for the harsh winter ahead. I didn't want to venture out for more when the cold became unbearable, knowing that having firewood on standby in case the generator failed was essential.
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ℕ𝕒𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕖.
I chose this location not just for the bunker but for the nearby flowing stream—perfect for drinking water and washing clothes. Close by, a gated shed allowed me to cultivate crops and house Luna. I built wooden planters and began growing potatoes, cabbage, tomatoes, strawberries, and various other fruits and vegetables to sustain myself. When I needed more protein, I relied on the local wildlife. Hunting wasn't enjoyable, even though I understood the necessity: bone knives, meat for meals, materials for blankets and coats. Still, the emotional toll of taking a life lingered long after each kill.
I had set up a decent system—food, bathing, cooking, and warmth were all within reach. It was almost perfect, but I couldn't shake the gnawing thoughts of those who had taken everything from me: Joel and Ellie. I had equipped the bunker with a radio, tuning it to a station where the remaining Fireflies communicated. Over the years, I had heard whispers of a new group, the WLF, or Wolves as they were known.
Eventually, the Fireflies' stations fell silent; there weren't enough left to communicate anymore. So, I turned to the Wolves' stations. Most days, they merely checked in on each other, discussing supply shipments or reporting trespassers. Occasionally, they mentioned Joel and Ellie. Unfortunately, it was never a lead, just a bitter echo of what had happened.
"If only the smuggler hadn't killed the Fireflies."
"Even if there was another immune person, the smuggler killed the last chance at a vaccine."
"Who knows if the immune girl is even alive anymore?"
"You better not be fucking dead, Ellie," I muttered through gritted teeth, desperately clinging to hope that she was still alive. I needed answers—why had they killed the only people capable of making a vaccine? Why had Ellie been so selfish?
