After the War

After the War (Ch.1)

I don't wanna go

I don't wanna go

I'm sorry

I sit up panting, clutching my head trying to get rid of the emotion racking through my body. For the past month I've had the same dream. Every night on repeat since my parents turned to dust along with half the people on the planet.

Throwing off my blankets I trudge over to my bathroom and run the cold water.

I rinse my face over and over until my face is numb and look up at my reflection. (Y/E/C) eyes stare back, red lining and dark purple bags. I don't know what to do anymore. The world has been crazy since the catastrophe hit us and politicians and military generals have been in meetings nonstop trying to find out why this happened. Pews have been filled with people praying to their gods that their loves ones will be brought back and people have already been shouting in the streets that this was the end of the world and God has finally demanded retribution for our sins.

I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with air before drying my dripping face and walking to the kitchen. Looking around, I remember when my mom used to make pancakes Sunday mornings when her and my dad had days off from work. Or when my mom and I baked cookies together for the first time. When I had sleepovers with my friends and flour coated the floors and counters from the food fights we had while trying to bake.

I turn my head and look to the living room where my best friend, Natasha, and I spent countless nights talking about the most random of things, from our favorite books to the meaning of life. Where I used to watch and sing off key with my parents to Disney songs every few months.

Now everyone is gone and I'm left all alone.

Walking into my parents room, I open the door hoping to see my parents sleeping on the other side but like the other 28 times that my hand has turned this knob since the end of the first week following the moment that everything went to hell, I instead find that it's empty and lifeless. Unsurprised, I grab a Twinkie from the pantry to snack on while staring lifelessly at the wall which follows my new routine consisting of being disappointed when looking into my parents' room then wallowing into self pity until my stomach urges me to get more food.

Pulling my comforter, I wrap myself in it before grabbing my phone. It's one hundred percent. I l charge it even though my family and Nat is gone, hoping that maybe someone I know will remember me and give me a call but every time I check it, I'm met with a screen free of notifications.

Sighing, I open the news app hoping that I'll be met with a headline blaring that the scientists have found a way to at least explain what happened, but as always, I only see the now default article describing that the world's leaders have been in meetings nonstop, searching for a solution.

Hoping. I seem to be hoping for a lot of things but getting nothing. I've already tried praying to God (if you're atheist then maybe you were trying to find a scientific solution to the problem or maybe you were even trying to pray to Gods that you didn't even believe in?) but so far that's been a bust. Maybe the crazies are right and this was the Gods' doings and all of this is our fault.

I rest my head, hoping to sleep the day away instead of giving into the false hope that the Gods will take pity on the innocent people who have done nothing to deserve this hell and restore our loved ones. Closing my eyes, the numbness eventually lulls me back into a deep sleep.

I don't wanna go

I don't wanna go

I'm sorry

I'm sorry

I'm sorry

The words repeat and repeat and this time I've had enough and push towards the bodiless voice. All around me is a yellow mist, too thick to see through.

I'm sorry

It's louder this time, I'm sure of it. I keep pushing through the mist.

I'm sorry

I'm sorry

I'm sorry

I scream in frustration, looking around for the source of the voice that's plagued me for a month.

"I'm sorry"

I whip my head around to see a boy in a metal suit lying on the ground, tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he repeats and I see that his hand seems to be clutching something. Someone. I rush over to him and slot my hand into the space where the hand that his is holding onto is supposed to be. I rest my hand on his cheek and whisper, "It's ok, you're ok," and pull.