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The last man standing


By RkentPublished about a month ago 3 min read

In a world ravaged by an unknown apocalypse, where the streets lay barren and the sky was perpetually shrouded in ominous clouds, there lived a man named Tom. He was the last survivor in a once bustling city, a lone soul wandering through the desolate ruins of a world that had crumbled into dust.

Tom had lost track of time in this desolate wasteland, where every day was a battle for survival against the encroaching darkness that threatened to swallow him whole. He scavenged for scraps of food and water, always on the lookout for signs of life amidst the silence that stretched on for miles in every direction.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, Tom began to lose hope that he would ever find another living soul in this godforsaken world. He had resigned himself to a fate of solitude, a solitary existence in a world where there was no life anymore.

But then, one fateful night, as Tom huddled in the crumbling ruins of an abandoned building, he heard it—a faint knocking echoing through the empty streets like a whisper in the darkness. His heart skipped a beat as he listened, scarcely daring to believe that he wasn't alone in this forsaken world after all.

With cautious steps, Tom followed the sound, his senses on high alert as he navigated the labyrinthine streets of the city. The knocking grew louder with each passing moment, guiding him like a beacon through the oppressive gloom that enveloped him like a suffocating blanket.

Finally, he arrived at the source of the sound—a weather-beaten door standing alone amidst the rubble, its wood warped and splintered with age. Tom hesitated for a moment, his hand trembling as he reached out to touch the rough surface of the door.

With a deep breath, he summoned the last vestiges of his courage and knocked—a single rap against the ancient wood that echoed through the stillness of the night like a gunshot in the silence.

For a moment, there was no response, only the sound of Tom's ragged breathing as he waited with bated breath for any sign of life beyond the door. And then, just when he thought all hope was lost, he heard it—a faint shuffling from within the darkness, followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching.

The door creaked open slowly, revealing a figure standing on the threshold, its features obscured by the shadows that danced across its face like ghosts in the night. Tom's heart pounded in his chest as he stared into the darkness, his breath catching in his throat as he waited for the figure to speak.

But before he could utter a word, a chill ran down his spine—a sensation so cold and bone-chilling that it seemed to freeze him to the very core of his being. And then, with a sudden burst of clarity, Tom realized the truth.

There was no one standing before him, no living soul to greet him in this desolate wasteland. The figure in the doorway was nothing more than a trick of the light, a mirage born of his own desperation and loneliness.

With a heavy heart, Tom turned away from the door, the echoes of his own footsteps reverberating through the empty streets as he retreated into the darkness once more. He was alone—truly and irrevocably alone—in a world where there was no life anymore, and the sound of that solitary knock on the door would haunt him until the end of his days.

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    RkentWritten by Rkent

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