A futuristic place
Life, what is its purpose? Why are we here? Are we here to suffer the consequences of ones mistake. I wonder from time to time, why we even exist. I live in a world full of hate. A world once dominated by man whom have built terrible and destructive things. Why would they build horrible and unthinkable things that would become our demise. The virus they created was exposed and it got loose. It spread fast through out the world, surging over us like a tidal wave before we can seek safety. But all that is in the past now, its far too late, human life has disintegrated.
It was an accident they said... and we all paid for it with our lives, so it seems. I was one of the lucky ones, only I do not appreciate it. I am alone, and in a world filled with death and destruction. Yeah... I'm lucky alright. I had wondered why God let this happen. I begin to think, does he exist, is there even a God? If he is out there. Is this his way of punishing us? By letting the dead walk the earth, roaming, hunting. I begged for his mercy, yet I have been tossed into the belly of the beast, and I am damned too live in this desolate place, hiding in the shadows among ruins of what is left of mankind. I had a family once, and that seemed a life time ago.
Although it wasn't that long, I had lost my father at the height of the pandemic four years ago, I know its been that long, three winters have past and I only want to get through the fourth one coming. It all began in the year two thousand nineteen when the virus hit us. A global pandemic that wiped almost every human being off the planet. I am among those in this crazed world filled with nothing but roaming dead people. Yes, you heard me right. I am in a living nightmare and it has no ending it seems. There is no hope, no future. I only live for now and hope to wake up once more, to be healthy and strong. I fear one day I won't.
I sometimes dream I am among the infected and the walkers combined. I see myself inflected with the disease, the veins in my arms turn black slowly crawling upward. Before it takes me, I awake startled and sweaty. All I can do is cry quietly where I hide. The walkers are out there somewhere, I see them from time to time. They are an endless army of the dead stalking who ever else is left alive, I ponder if there is anyone else left out there. My name does not matter no more, not here. I sometimes wonder if I am already dead and this is my hell.
One day I will be with my father again, for now, it isn't my time. I shall carry on my fathers namesake. I spent these last two years combating the infected people, The walkers. I will carry on, I will find more like me, more survivors. As hard as it is; no one can be trusted, no one is safe. My name is Ruby Sanchez. I will survive.
