Once a Year

Preface

It has happened. The apocalypse.

There was once a city- flourished with life and towering skyscrapers, has now crumbled and any remaining peoples are cut off from civilization. They hide in the ruins for months and months until once every year, supplies is dropped from an unknown source in the middle of the town square.

There are no bounds, no limits to whom the rare commodities in this lone box, that soars like a hawk and then gently lands like a feather onto the stage of the apocalypse, belongs to.

As the majestic box lands, the vultures swoop in to tear the flesh away from this beautiful god-given gift. Most run right for the box while the others are either too exhausted, or are waiting for the right moment to strike down on the rest.

In the cluster and confusion, no one bothers to check the surroundings and what lurks behind the corners of broken buildings, sleeping cars, and downed streetlights. The denizens of the dead watch the crowd of furious survivors fight for the gold of the treasure that everyone ever so longs for.

They glare with wide pupil-less eyes in lust and delight, for their dinner bell shall be rung quite soon.

In the cloud of survivors, it's every man for themselves. All of them have lost their sense of humanity and have turned into these soulless animals: dead inside, careless for the sake of others. Fireworks of blood spew from the cloud of hopefuls who fight for supplies, and their lives.