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The End of All

by Tiny Tales of Terror about a year ago in fiction
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The President and Zombies

I have been missing for three days. I can tell because there’s a tiny, high window and I have kept myself awake since they threw me in here and locked the door. I assume the entire Secret Service is not sleeping either, considering my safety is their most important gig, but who knows. This could be an inside job. I was on my way to a meeting with the Secretary of State when a suspicious vehicle floored it past the undisclosed location.

We kept going for hours before switching cars in the middle of nowhere. We must have been getting close to something they did not want me to see because they covered my head with a black fabric bag. I couldn’t see anything and time seemed to drag on forever before they finally pulled me out of the car into the bitter cold.

I do not know what the place we are in is called. Is it a house? An apartment? Who knows. I could not see a damn thing. All I know for sure is that there is a window in this room and a door I am afraid to touch. I tried once. Someone hit it from the outside. I took the hint and have left it alone ever since. There has been no food and only a couple of bottles of water given to me in these last three days. I don’t know if they are putting something in the water, though, because the seal has been broken every time it was rolled through a crack in the door. I would not even drink it if I did not know that a person can die from dehydration in a matter of days.

Sometimes, I wonder how no one has noticed that the President of the United States is missing. Then, the thought occurs to me that maybe something bigger is going on. Maybe there are bigger concerns than my whereabouts. The idea of that alone scares me into looking out the window. I should have known that would be a bad idea.

There is nothing to stand on aside from the bucket I have been using for bathroom purposes. I refuse to dump it on the floor and I do not particularly want to slip into it. There is no way to shower in here. It was never even offered. Debating what to do, I make a choice to simply stand below the window and jump. I have to do it over and over again but to no avail. I can see nothing but some grass and what might be a fence just far enough outside of my line of vision for an accurate guess. There did look to be something behind the fence, though. It almost looked like people.

I find some internal hope: they do in fact know I am missing. They are not only looking for me, but they have found me. This means that, wherever I am, I am not supposed to be here.

I make a few more jumps and eventually realized I would not get their attention that way. I decided to take my chances and start yelling. I figured that whatever was going to happen because I made noise was bound to happen at some point anyway. If I die down here, I though, at least the public will know where I was and that they were correct.

I scream at the top of my lungs, as loud as I possibly can. To my great surprise, the crowd reacts. I did not think I was close enough for them to hear me. I had assumed this room would be more soundproof than it apparently was.

The crowd begins to storm the gate. They’re coming to save me, I think while trying to control the wave of hope welling up inside of me. The group, though… something is wrong. They are not trying to rescue me. In fact, they seem angry. No, more than angry, I tell myself. There is something else; something wrong with them. It looks as though they are not feeling anger so much as something else. Something else entirely.

The door suddenly opens. I feel as if I am about to see the end of my life as my would-be rescue party attempts to get to me through the fence. I hear no gun shots, which I only notice after I see the faces of the men coming through the door. Fear. Utter terror. Unadulterated horror.

It was then that I realized this was something else entirely. They were in fact my Secret Service members. This was an inside job. They weren’t trying to hurt me, though. They were trying to protect me. I was being saved and I had just screwed everything up. My lack of sleep and inability to ask questions had driver me to act irrationally and draw attention to a very delicate situation. My mistakes were going to cost not only my life, but the lives of those who had gone above and beyond in an attempt to protect me. They could have left me out there with those ‘people.’ They did not, and now they were going to die because of me, too.

The door shakes with a loud repetitive thud. Its volume increases as did the intensity. I do not know what I am looking at and my brain does not have time to process anything more than fear before I hear the first shots. They came from right beside me. I am behind my men as I watch the crowd spill inhumanly through the door at us.

There were screams, cries, and begging for mercy from men falling on the deaf ears of those in front of us. They had lost their ability to understand human speech.

I begin to say something but the words are ripped from my throat by an unexpected scream of pain as I am bitten into. The words I was about to say quickly turned into nothing more than a wheezing sound as my wind pipe is ripped open. This is the end for me.

This is the end for everyone.

This is the end of all.

fiction

About the author

Tiny Tales of Terror

Obsessed with writing. Trying to make it as a writer and accounting student, a mom, living on my own for the first time. Crazy on top of everything else. Thanks for reading!

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