Final Days

December 2026

Day 1: December 7th, 2026
Shit hit the fan today. The sky bled red, like a fucking wound torn open. Sirens screamed, drowning out the panicked voices. My neighbor was clawing at her face, shrieking something about "angels" ripping out her eyes. I grabbed my bag and bolted. The streets were chaos—cars piled up, bodies sprawled out, faces twisted in agony. I don't know where to go. I just run.
Day 2
Didn't sleep. Couldn't. The sky never got dark; it just burned with that sickly red glow. Found a place to hide in an old warehouse, but the screams outside never stop. Heard some guy begging for mercy, then this wet, crunching sound. The kind that gets under your skin. My stomach churned, but I didn't dare move. The air stinks of piss and blood. I think I'm losing it.
Day 3
Woke up to someone crying nearby. A girl, maybe? Young. Found her curled up behind some crates, eyes wide, blood smeared on her face. She wasn't hurt. It wasn't her blood. She just kept muttering, "Mommy's gone. Mommy's gone." I tried to talk to her, but she just stared through me. Left her some food. She didn't touch it. Fuck, I don't know what to do.
Day 4
Everything's going to shit. People are turning on each other. Saw a guy gut another like a fish for a bottle of water. There's something wrong with the air—tastes like iron, feels thick in my lungs. My skin itches, burns. The girl's still here. She won't eat. Won't talk. Just stares. I can't leave her, but staying here is suicide. What the hell do I do?
Day 5
Ran into a group today. Didn't trust them, but what choice did I have? They're as fucked up as everything else. Their leader, some ex-military prick, keeps grinning like this is some sick joke. Says we're "chosen" to survive this. Says Judgment Week is just the start. The others believe him. I don't. The girl sticks close to me now, like a shadow. She doesn't trust them either. Smart kid.
Day 6
Found a dog today. Or what was left of it. Thing was half-eaten, still twitching. One of the guys laughed and kicked it. Said it looked like dinner. I vomited in the corner while they skinned the damn thing. I can't stay with these people, but the girl... I can't leave her with them. They're all fucking monsters. Maybe I am too. Can't tell anymore.
Day 7
The ex-military prick decided it was time to "clean house." Said there wasn't enough food for all of us. Took the weakest guy and slit his throat while the others watched. The girl buried her face in my jacket, but I could feel her trembling. I want to leave. I want to get the hell away, but I can't outrun them. I'm stuck. We're all stuck.
Day 8
Heard something outside the warehouse last night. A low, rumbling growl, not like any animal I've ever heard. The others are on edge, weapons ready. The ex-military prick is grinning like a lunatic, saying it's one of "them"—one of the angels sent to cleanse the earth. He's fucking lost it. We all have. I'm scared. Not just of what's outside, but of what we're becoming. The girl clings to me like I'm her last lifeline. I don't deserve it.
Day 9
It's gone. Whatever was out there, it's gone. But something worse is coming. I can feel it, crawling under my skin. The ex-military prick's talking about sacrifices, saying we need to appease the angels. Says the girl is perfect—pure, untouched by the filth of this world. I want to kill him. I really fucking do. But if I try, the others will rip me apart. We need to get out of here. Now.
Day 10
We ran. The girl and I. Waited until they were distracted, then slipped out into the night. I don't know where we're going, just away from those psychos. The streets are empty, but I can hear things moving in the shadows. Whispering, slithering. I don't want to know what they are. My legs ache, lungs burn, but we can't stop. Not until we're far away. If there's even such a place anymore.

Day 11
Found an old church. Boarded up, half-collapsed, but still standing. The girl keeps looking at the stained glass windows, like they'll protect us. I want to believe that too. But this place isn't holy. Not anymore. The air's thick with rot, the floor sticky with blood. The walls are covered in scratches, like something tried to claw its way out. We'll rest here tonight. Pray tomorrow comes, but I'm not holding my breath.

Day 12
The girl spoke today. First time since I found her. She whispered, "They're coming." I don't know who or what, but I believe her. Something's been following us, and it's getting closer. I can feel its eyes on me, its breath on my neck. There's no running from this. No hiding. We're fucked. But I'll keep moving until I can't anymore. She deserves better, but this world's got no mercy left.
Day 13
Woke up to the sound of scraping. Something was outside, dragging itself along the ground. The girl gripped my arm, eyes wide, not saying a word. We stayed still, not even breathing, while that thing circled the church. It was close, so fucking close I could feel the cold seeping in. It left eventually, but the silence after was worse. There's nowhere safe anymore. Not even here.
Day 14
I don't know how long we can keep this up. The food's almost gone, and the girl's getting weaker. She barely touches what I give her, just stares off into space. I don't blame her. What's the point in eating when there's nothing left to live for? But I need to keep her going. Need to keep her alive. Maybe it's all I've got left.
Day 15
Found a corpse on the road today. Face was twisted in a scream, eyes gouged out, chest torn open like something tried to crawl inside. The girl asked if it was an angel. I didn't have the heart to answer. We scavenged what we could—some canned food, a rusty knife—but it wasn't much. The smell of death is everywhere, clinging to us like a second skin. I don't know how much longer we can keep walking.
Day 16
We crossed paths with another group today. They looked like us—tired, beaten down, eyes hollowed out by fear. I thought maybe, just maybe, we could help each other. But then I saw the blood on their hands, the wild hunger in their eyes. They weren't survivors; they were predators. We turned and ran before they could even speak. Trust is dead in this world. Mercy is a fucking joke.
Day 17
The girl's feverish. Her skin's hot to the touch, and she's mumbling nonsense. I tried finding medicine, but the only pharmacy I found was looted clean. Everything else was either burned or rotting. I don't know what to do. Can't think straight. All I hear is her raspy breathing, her whispers about "them" watching us, waiting for us to give up. I won't let them take her. Not while I'm still breathing.
Day 18
She stopped talking. Eyes half-closed, barely moving. I carried her most of the day, feet dragging through the dirt. I'm so fucking tired. Every step feels like dragging a dead weight, but I can't stop. Not while she's still holding on. Night's falling again, and I hear them in the distance. The scraping, the whispers, the promises of salvation. Lies. All lies. But they're getting louder.
Day 19
I tried to pray today. For the first time in years. But the words wouldn't come out right, like my mouth was full of ash. The girl opened her eyes, just for a moment, and I thought maybe... maybe she'd smile, say something. But she just stared at me, like she was already gone. I can't lose her. Not now. Not after everything.
Day 20
I think it's the end. We're cornered in some decrepit building, windows shattered, walls crumbling. I can hear them outside, scratching at the door, whispering my name. The girl hasn't moved all day. Her breathing's shallow, almost nonexistent. I keep telling myself she's still in there, that she's just resting, but I know the truth. It's over. We're over.

Day 21
They're inside. I can hear them crawling through the walls, see their shadows creeping closer. The girl's still as a corpse, but I hold her close, whispering that it'll be okay, even though I know it's a fucking lie. The last thing she'll hear is my voice, not those things. Not the angels. I'll make sure of that. If they want us, they'll have to take us together.
Day 22
I don't feel fear anymore. Just cold, empty resignation. The girl's not breathing. She's gone. I couldn't save her. I couldn't save anyone. The angels, the demons, whatever the fuck they are, they're here. They're waiting for me to let go. I don't think I can fight them off any longer. I'm tired. So fucking tired. Maybe it's time to stop running, to stop pretending there's a way out of this hell.
Day 23
It's quiet now. The kind of quiet that gets into your bones, makes your heart slow down, makes you question if you're even alive. I'm holding her cold, lifeless body, waiting for whatever comes next. I don't care anymore. Let them come. Let them take me. I'm done. The final days are here, and there's nothing left to fight for. I'm ready.
Day 24
Thought I was dreaming when I heard the choppers. The low thrum of rotors cutting through the dead silence, like a lifeline thrown into the abyss. The door burst open, and I was blinded by a flood of light. Voices shouted orders, boots stomped on the floor, but it was all a blur. I barely registered the soldiers sweeping through the room, guns raised, scanning for threats. They found me huddled in the corner, still clutching the girl's body. I don't know what they saw in my eyes, but one of them gently pulled her from my arms. I didn't resist. Couldn't. I was too far gone, lost in a fog of grief and exhaustion. They lifted me up, dragged me outside to the waiting chopper. I didn't ask where we were going. Didn't care. Anywhere was better than here.