"The Apocalypse is near."
Those were the last words my father uttered right before he died in my arms.
He was one of those men that I like to call blind men. And that's the only thing I hated about him: the fact that he was blind.
When I say blind, I don't mean the physical defect of the eyes. I mean–
He was a man who believed in miracles. Yes, I know he sounds naive. But that's not all; he also believed that life has a deeper meaning to it, that it's much more than what we know and see every day.
Honestly, his words, beliefs and thoughts still anger me til today.
And they don't anger me because he was wrong or because he sounded naive. In fact, when I was younger, I believed everything he said; he told me that the Earth is just like a speck of dust in a vast beach filled with sand, and that we humans aren't even qualified to exist, and our lives on Earth are a miracle made manifest by someone who he refused to name.
That's why he always told me to be grateful for life. And I always am, or was. Not now. Not anymore. Not now that I feel like I'm not even living, like I'm nothing.
That's why his words anger me. Because back then, when I was still green, I saw the world through a clear lens. A world with infinite possibilities, a beautiful world that I can be grateful for and a place where my big dreams can become reality. But now that I'm all grown up,
I hate it all. Now, I have nothing to be grateful for because I realized that this world isn't beautiful. It's destructive, and its inhabitants — Humans — are the cause of that destruction.
Or maybe the world isn't at fault. Maybe it's just me. I'm the problem because I dared to dream. My dreams slowly faded as I grew. And by the time I became a fully grown adult, I fully realized that the clear lens with which I once saw the world had become broken.
Now all I can see is a broken world of white and black. A world devoid of colors.
I constantly ask myself one question and one question only:
Was my father right? Is life truly a miracle?
I can't answer it. Maybe life really is a miracle to some. And to the rest, an opportunity. But to me and countless others like me, it's a cage. An entrapment that slowly chips off my soul, making it wither away until nothing's left, only the calmness that comes with exhaustion and that soft voice that whispers in my ears to end it all.
But still, I can't say that my Father was wrong.
No, five months ago, I would definitely have said he was wrong. But not now. Now I choose to believe him and every other nonsense he has ever spouted.
Not because I've suddenly found a miracle in my life. Not because my broken lens has been repaired. No. It's because one of the nonsensical things he said before he died has become a reality.
Now I'm standing. Barely. My knees are weak, almost giving out, my body has lost the strength in them, and my eyes are slightly open as I look up at the sky. The sky that was once bright and blue has been dyed with the grim and desolate darkness.
"The Apocalypse is here."
The world is now trapped in an eternal cycle of night. Daylight is a concept that no longer exists because the sun is no more.
When did it all begin?
Ah, yes.
It all began five months ago. I had just concluded my job for the day at the McJohnson' fast food five blocks away from my rented studio.
I was walking home, tired, exhausted, and wondering what my life would have been like if my father had the money to train me through school.
Then it hit. Out of nowhere, like the universe had pre-planned it.
The Earth beneath my feet began to tremble, and when I looked around me, I saw that all the buildings quaked, split, and were destroyed.
My instincts tugged at me, blaring signals throughout my body; Run.
So I ran. Where was I running to? I didn't even know. I knew I couldn't go back home; the buildings were getting destroyed.
I just kept running amid the chaos that came with the quakes. The screams of men, women, and children were muffled in my ears.
The only words that kept playing in my mind were, 'I have to survive. I have to live.'
You see, humans are really funny. I was surprised at the fact that I didn't want to die.
I'd always told myself that if there's ever a time that I have to die, then I'd die without struggling, without fighting. I'd escape this cage called life.
But, I'm a coward. Yes, I'm a bloody coward, I know it, and I accept it.
I didn't want to die. I still wanted to live. So I ran, I ran away, as far as my legs could carry.
As I ran, my mind.. my mind became foggy. By the time I recalled myself, I was standing on top of a pile of debris, panting heavily, sweat all over my face and my body.
The Earth had finally stopped shaking. The city, which was once lush with life, had been reduced to piles of ruins.
Then I checked my phone. To know if what had happened was a major Earthquake or something worse.
I found out that the quake had occurred around the world. The entire frigging world.
I couldn't react. No, I didn't need to react. Half because my brain was in a state of shock, and half because it was getting late that day. I had to find a place to rest. A place far away from other survivors because I hated human interaction.
After finding the best place in the middle of piles of debris, a place that no human was, and a place that I would easily wake up if I felt any slight movement, I slept that night. But before I slept, I asked myself questions about what could have caused the Earthquakes, and I answered all those questions. Then I pondered on hundreds of predictions on what was most likely to happen as a result of the Earthquakes, and then, to all my predictions, I began to strategize how to adapt to them and how I would survive. How I would live.
I remember the breeze was particularly warm that night, a sharp contrast to the events that occurred during the daytime. The breeze comforted me, soothing my confused heart as I drifted sleep.
When I woke up, it was still dark. I checked my phone, wondering if I had slept for only an hour or two because I remembered sleeping by 11:00 pm.
On my phone, I saw that it was 8:00 am.
That's when I knew that everything had turned upside down. I looked up at the sky, which was covered by a thick veil of darkness. There were no stars, and the moon and the sun were absent. It was a lightless sky.
On the fourth day, after raiding countless crashed malls and supermarkets to get food supplies, I headed underground, toward the subway station with large bags containing the supplies on my arms.
On my way there, I saw dead bodies on the destroyed grounds.
Everywhere.. they were everywhere. I– I didn't see a single living person.
It was like.. It was as if I were the only one alive in the entire city.
The quiet stillness coupled with the darkness was eerie.
When I reached the subway station, I discovered that the subway station was no more. It was so stupid. It was so..
It had already been destroyed.
Why didn't I.. why didn't I remember that?
I just stood there, at the ruins that were once the entrance to the subway station.
I dropped all the bags I held and fell on my knees. "What is this?" I whispered. My voice scratched my throat as it came out. I couldn't even remember the last time I spoke out loud.
As if it wasn't enough, as if the universe wasn't done playing games with me, the worst happened.
It was just a noise at first. A screeching sound that echoed in the dark. Then that screeching sound multiplied and became two screeching sounds. The two screeching sounds became three, and before long, I could hear countless screeching sounds, like thousands of bats had awakened.
I wanted to check my phone. To check the news and see if anybody had experienced the same thing I did. But when I brought out my phone, I remembered that, internet had stopped working two days ago.
And the bright light from my phone attracted whatever was the source of those screeching sounds.
I stood up and immediately turned my phone off. But it was too late, the deed had already been done. Those screeching creatures had already spotted me. And they attacked me in swarms.
Those were the events that occurred at the beginning.
"Why are these shitty memories resurfacing now?" I mutter with a weak voice. My eyes are still focused on the dark sky.
It's been two months since then. Since the dawn of the apocalypse. My father was right.
It turns out that no one else in this city survived. Everyone apart from me died. Sometimes, I roam the vast, ruined city alone to preserve my sanity.
The Earth quakes every week at a specific time. And now there are no dead bodies everywhere in the city.
Those dead bodies are all alive. Every single human who died has been revived, but without sentience or a sound mind. In fact, they're just the walking dead. And they were what attacked me that day at the subway station.
My eyes have adjusted to this dark world. And I see perfectly, even if it's dark everywhere. That's the only way I've been surviving from the walking dead.
I run away from them, outsmart them, fight off the ones I can. And the ones I can't, I lead them to that grotesque giant being made of flesh and feathers that stands at the center of the ruined city twenty-four-seven. It never moves, and only moves when it eats some of the undead.
But today, my plan went awry. I planned to raid an area where these undead, that I like to call Xerns, gather. It's the only place in this ruined city where plants still grow, and plants are something I can eat. No, they're the only things I can eat now. So hunger drove me, dulling my intelligence and enhancing my stupid resolve.
That's how I ended up like this.
A hole in my stomach. And behind me, the Xern's arm that made that hole is still stuck in it.
Blood gushes out of the hole, creating a puddle beneath my feet. But I don't care. I just stood still, my weak eyes still focused on the sky.
It's weird. I thought death would be more painful. If I had known that I wouldn't feel anything during death, then I'd have died a long time ago.
If I had made a proper plan before coming here, then I wouldn't have been killed by these Xerns that possess strength that far surpasses an average man.
But still, who cares? I tried my best anyway. I lived even though my life wasn't worth anything. I fought that hazy feeling of death even when I hadn't eaten for two weeks straight.
I close my eyes, letting out a soft exhale.
I'd probably turn into one of these Xerns when I die.
"But still," my lips curl for the first time in years as blood trickles down from them. "Fuck it."
It was a mediocre life. I hope I never live again.
My consciousness erodes, fading into nothingness as my body drops limp on the floor.
I die.