They took it all.
My wife.
My children.
My friends.
My identity.
I had done nothing to harm them, yet I must suffer the consequences of their own kind's actions.
After the proclaimed 'nuclear attack', I was the only one who survived.
I saw with my own eyes, my relatives and colleagues running, hiding, desperately clinging on to life. I saw them burn alive. I saw their heads exploding. I saw the look in their eyes as I ran past them. They needed help, and yet I ignored them like a coward.
Years passed after the incident. No one believed me. I was still suffering from the trauma, but my life was gradually getting more stable. I had a job and an apartment room. I even adopted a child to keep me company.
Then, they found me.
They could've easily killed me, and I would've accepted. I had prepared everything, knowing I had little time to live.
But never did I expect them to pin the blame of their destruction on me.
From that point on, I had to live the rest of my life running away, along with my son. He was only five back then, and knew nothing of the world. He was pure and innocent, and I had to stain him with the horrors of the world.
The only thing keeping my from ending myself was my desire for revenge. I had to visit other planets, travel across the multiverse and enter separate dimensions. I had to experience things no one ever should. And worst of all...
My son. He had gone insane.
I could no longer keep him in check, and my only companion left me.
*****
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