The Night of The Apocalypse

Surviving the First Night

Cold. That was all it ever was that night. My senses felt numb and my mind wasn't thinking straight. The small opening space of the window let a little bit of cold air inside the motel room. Lucas was peacefully sleeping on his side of the bed while sucking on his thumb. I can't ever imagine the trauma a six year old would have after what just happened. "You okay?" My dad asked as he sat down on his bed. I was silent. "You need to eat something Jane, I don't want you to go hungry. We have a long way to go." He finally said as he handed me a granola bar. I somehow couldn't get the thought out of my head with the events that happened not long ago. What I thought was a normal Saturday evening, turned out to be the day I never wanted to happen.  To think these would only happen in movies. I pinched myself to see if I was dreaming. To no surprise, I didn't wake up at all. 

"I know right! It's as if she never-" I got cut in the middle of a phone call by my obnoxious little brother. "Jane! Look what I drew!" Lucas yelled out as he ran across the hall, into my room. He was holding a piece of paper and trying to wave it in front of me. "Lucas, not now." I said while I held my phone to my ear with my shoulder. I was trying to paint my nails simultaneously. "But Jane, I drew us as a happy family!" He said sounding so enthusiastic. "If I look, will you get out of my room?" I scoffed. He nodded. I turned to my left to see a badly drawn stick-man family. I assumed I was the one with the lemon yellow-colored hair. Dad was the tallest figure in the drawing with a blue shirt drawn over the thin line what was supposed to be the torso. Lucas was the shortest of course, but his character was holding hands with another figure. She had long brown hair and was wearing a red dress. I let out a soft smile, but then I turned back to Lucas with a slightly confused look. "We don't have a Mom, I don't see why you had to add her in the picture." I said hastily. From somewhat a large grin, turned into a long sad face. Lucas ran out of my room crying. I rolled my eyes and continued to paint my nails. 

Not long after, I heard a soft knock on my door. I screwed my nail polish bottle and carefully stood up to avoid damaging my nails. I opened the door and to my surprise, it was dad. "Yeah?" I said as I fanned my hand to make the paint dry a bit faster. "Honey, let's talk." He said as he entered my room. He walked inside my purple-walled abode. I looked across the hall to see Lucas in his room. He was staring at me with tears and snot on his face. I shook my head and turned around to see my dad already sitting down. "If it's about Lucas-" I said, trying to explain my self immediately. "Lucas told me what you said about your mother." He said as he cut me off from my statement. "I understand that you are still mad at her, but please... Don't talk to your brother like that. Its already hard for him, and you're making it harder for me." He said as he slightly pat my back. All I could think of at the time was how my own mother cheated on my dad. I was only 16 when I found out about her affair. I'm glad I wasn't dumb enough to hide it from my dad. It hurts to grow up and continue life without a mother. I just don't want Lucas to experience any worse from now on. "I'm sorry dad." I sighed. I couldn't blame him, he's working hard to take care of me and my brother. 

Before he could say another word, a loud but muffled thud repeatedly echoed from downstairs. We both turned our attention to the hallway. "Stay here." He said as he stealthily walked outside my room and down the stairs. I followed when his assuring return was taking too long. I stopped halfway down the stairs and peeked between the wooden railings. "Yes? Who are you?" My dad said as he broke the silence. The living room was dark but I could make out a slight figure on our patio door. It was tall and frail. It banged it's head against the sliding door and made a little crack. My dad, now alarmed, started yelling. "Hey! Stop that! Who are you? I'm going to call the police." He said as he turned around to grab the telephone. As he panic-dialed 911, the figure continued banging it's head against the already cracked sliding door. I made my way towards the living room with a horrified look on my face. The crack has grown bigger and the door will surely break in a couple more knocks.  My dad noticed the way I was looking behind him. The figure, now I can identify fully, looked emotionless. The skin tone was pale with an excessive amount of veins popping out from its head to its arms. It reminded me of the Tropical Rain Forest shade in Lucas' crayon box. The crippled-looking man stood there with lifeless eyes. It was as if it was being controlled, like a puppet. With no strings attached, it still moved but it did not talk. It furiously hit its head against the sliding door which was holding its dear life together with the door frame.