Just an idea i had about the end of the world. Different from my usual style. I accept criticsm.
This isn’t a bed time story. Unless, your folks were sadistic people and their idea of children’s fairy tales included burning trash cans, post-apocalyptic wastelands, and feral people. But you never know, maybe you did hear these stories. Maybe you even enjoyed them. Maybe you know the ending. I sure as hell don’t and I’ll be lucky if I ever have a happy ending. But I doubt it, because the end was already here, and I can tell you it sure wasn’t happy.
We didn’t plan our destruction. Nobody looked at a calendar and said “Well lookie here, I’m not doing anything on February 12th, what do you say we blow up the world?” We never doubted once that our intellectuals would do anything less than safe. They were scientists. Scientists came from top-notch colleges. Scientists wore lab coats. Scientists could recite the Periodic Table. Oh, yeah? Well they also fiddled around with chemicals, dumped unknown substances into one another, and poured ozone-destroying smog into the atmosphere. It was only a matter of time until they frickin blew up the world with one drop of an acid into another, wiping out everything from Australia to Antarctica. People were left with an expanse of land as flat as a stale corn chip. Only, there weren’t many people left to see this, were there?
We called ourselves the Freaks. Those lucky enough to by some miracle, escape the force of the blast as it ravaged the world. And this pretty much defined us. We are the kid who sat in the back of your chemistry room wearing tucked-in shirts and memorizing the top fifty rules on how to survive a Zombie Attack. Among us is the woman who thought that aliens were real and dedicated her life to trying to find those that hid amid us. We were the ones who prepared for an impending doomsday like this one and got laughed at for it by the “cool” kids in school or the average person. Well, guess what? The dead can’t laugh.
Names don’t really matter anymore, but mine is Zoey Anne. Not Zoey- Zoey Anne, do you have that? I am in a group of twelve freaks excluding myself. I hesitate to say thirteen because it is often considered an unlucky number, and we’ve been anything but fortunate. Take today, for example. Food is scarce and we scavenge whatever vegetation has shown itself or the scraps of meat we sometimes see adorning the ground. The last of our food supply was depleted this evening as we gobbled down the weed that had been spotted a couple of days ago. It wasn’t nearly enough, we were all hungry for more.
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