Horrified Survivor

Within the windowless room, where I sit and wonder, the light that shines above me as my only companion, it simmers with the delight that it enjoys giving, as if it were but a real and living and breathing thing. The light that shines above me as my friend and only companion inside of this shell of a room that once gave life to others, it is now a ghastly hall of vacancy. No longer the lingering cries or that of hinged demise, for it is no longer a place with life, for the void that has overtaken it alone kindles a reminder that I am but a last vessel.

It was in the early spring as the seasons gave way from winter and the icy breath no longer flowing, but barren in its slumber, the winter here was but the beginning and none of us had noticed. It crept in with the chill and the icy air as frost bitten animals, it crept in from the fields of grain that wee once sown and harvested. It was a fire that bore its way into us all. None but I remain. Four times twenty living souls ghastly now. I linger. I am the only one to tell the tale.

We arrived here in the spring, two years prior to our undoing. We prospered and we were graced with food, lumber, textiles, all that we needed or wanted to make or think of were ours for the making and the taking. For two springs we flourished and had it all. We were the masters of our domain, land, people, everything within our sight was but a whisper and it too became ours. Those once thriving here left us a tale written as a proof of there dominance as well, and that warning we ignored, for if we were to have heeded it, we would not be where we are, and I would not be doing the same as they once did.

I tell you this not as a deterrent, but for the ones whom come next, a reminder of what not to do, rather, if the new ones whom find this, LEAVE here instantly, and leave all your toils behind.

Spring, that second season return, we had scarce nothing to our devout eatery, catering to our own whimsical demands, our own fickle fantasies, we ate, we craved more, as it became summer our thirst for supplies grew more and more lingering. We could eat more, wanted more, craved more. That was when the winter came upon us like a whirlwind. Summer seemed shortened and nothing we did was able to extend or grant us the in-between season. Our harvest lost, our animals perished, we who were masters now serve as testament to our own demise. Four times fifty swelled in rank and file as lined gunman at a carnival.

I watched as we fell into ourselves and became more, much more then the ones whom warned us.

We gave no care.

No quarter to that which truly had its fangs in us.

My wife of ten years and three days was to give birth to our first, I, in this very room now where I sit with the light as my only companion dwell, this room…

She laid her head down on the table, I and the mother waited in eager anticipation. I remember it well, as if I knew it would be the first time and the last time I had seen her or saw what was once she. Her legs in the saddles, spread out before me, the mother telling her to breathe laboriously, the panting, the shallow breathes taken, the beeping of the heart slowing, the smell of the dead and decay emerging victoriously, he came still unto my hand as I pulled him from my wife… the hand that once fed me, the mother, the hand that fed my wife when ill and I too were void of self… the child born of woman was devoured on sight and it curdled within me as sour milk from the teats of one whom fed… she wanted it, ate it as if it were nothing… my wife met the same hold and hall as did my son…

The door burst wide and the shouts a great many…

Mother was removed and I were left in the standing room where they fell and lay.

This was the winter that all decay took place. For it was when the mother was removed that it confessed itself to us all. I watched as my brethren fell, one after one, stuck down at all age and grace, nothing mattered but what it were to eat, what it were to want.

Throwing myself in the disillusionment that took heed, I ripped a part the flooring with haste and boarded the door, windows, whereas nothing could venture to find me.

I lay prone with the little remains of my wife and child, here, the act was in its final… she bore me no regret or regard upon her waking, as her eyes fluttered as if she were still breathing, a smile to let me know she was happy and safe, became a barreled jaw of disgrace, jagged teeth from what was once square, the cracking of her bones in despair, her eyes once lively and full of love, filled now with the beast that held, no life left inside her as she launched herself upon me and I battled to the last. The banging… the banging as if it were but a timed drum on the battlefield… the screams gave to whimpers… the bodies refilled the army that was upon the town and all of us whom were still… we were to be the replacement…when we died, as I watched, no matter who or what one once was, they too were all born again and rose up upon the dead eyes that consumed my wife, mother, and child…

I write this so none can claim. RUN! DO NOT ENGAGE!!

For you as well will be next or last, until it too had its fill … as we once had done.

Run and survive.

J. Telem – the last…