Wind

The apocalypse started as a repercussion of humankind's constant destruction, a failed attempt to fix old mistakes. Scientists had found a cure but said cure brought in an ice age and deadly viruses, which resulted in the near extinction of humankind. The Apocalypse lead people to rampage, people began to kill in order to live.

The best chance of survival is by finding someone to survive with, if you're lucky enough you find some people. Being alone practically guarantees death.

I take note of the way the world looks now, the way all the colours had been replaced by white coating and a grey tint sky. There wasn't much difference in comparison to before, even with a hint of vibrancy it had always been faded, close to colourless.

My friends happened to abandon me during the apocalypse, I'm not sure what I should do, so I just stand still.

I don't cry, but I can feel my cheeks burn, and my chest tighten.

I can't cry, and I want to badly. I want to heave and I want to gag, I want to break down and never piece back together. I wish I could say I never saw this coming, but the thoughts lingered continuously, and perhaps a little too comfortably.

Common knowledge, you could call it.

When I was younger, I used to have dreams of my mother leaving me like this too. In contrast to this snowy world, everything was set ablaze.

The atmosphere stilled stifled, there were no sounds from the fires sputtering and snapping, no stampede like you'd expect there to be. There was no sound, yet my mother's voice sang throughout my ears like honey and pricked inside them with shards as sharp as glass. And the only thing I could do was what she told me to.

No matter what, no matter how, she always left me alone in an apocalyptic world.

And now I'm really alone in the apocalypse, so as guaranteed I'll die.