The sun stood high in the sky, shining in all its golden glory, as the June heat wave poured in. The air was thick with the oppressive warmth, shimmering above the cracked asphalt of what had once been a bustling suburban neighborhood.
The few birds chirped lazily in the distance, their calls muffled by the haze, as they sought refuge in the sparse, withered trees.
On the playground, untouched by the passage of time, a few remaining kids ran around, their laughter echoing eerily in the stillness. If one looked closely, you'd notice the parallels between the birds and the children-both blissfully unaware of the dangers of the world, their innocence a fragile shield against the harsh reality lying in wait.
I remember the world as it was, or at least, I try to-not as it is now, but as it used to be, in those halcyon days when life seemed eternal. The kids playing on the swings, their gleeful cries as they leapt into the air, the sand between their fingers as they built castles that would be gone by nightfall. Memories of the slides, the seesaws, and the merry-go-rounds spin in my mind like a broken record, skipping over the details as they blur into the haze of my slowly deteriorating mind.
The days of friendly conversations with my neighbor, Mr. Thompson, down Onwe Road, or the warmth of my daughter's small hand in mine as I picked her up from school, linger like ghosts. I still hear her giggles as she babbled about what Jane did during break time, her excitement a pure, unfiltered joy that seemed to light up the world. We would rush home, eager to catch dinner before the sun dipped below the horizon. And there was Mary, always waiting for us at the door, her smile as welcoming as the aroma of a home-cooked meal. Oh, my Mary had such a nice smile-a smile that never wavered, even as we lost her to them.
Why do I remember now, of all days? It's said that a man sees his life flash before his eyes at the moment of his death. Maybe this is my time, maybe it's a premonition, an omen, or a prelude to the inevitable. One thing, however, is certain: as the now darkened sun hangs ominously in the sky, it serves as a constant reminder that daydreams are nothing more than just that- dreams. The birds will never sing again, and the little ones will never run or play in the sand. I've stayed alive long enough to know this: the end can never end if you live in the end-if that makes any sense.
I walk ever so carefully through the rubble of what once was, the ruins of civilization crunching beneath my worn boots. The shattered remains of houses and buildings loom like the skeletal hands of the past, clawing at the sky in a futile attempt to hold on to what's already lost. The wind whistles through the broken windows, carrying with it the faint scent of decay and ash. Here, in this desolate landscape, the echoes of the world that once was linger like shadows, haunting those of us who remain.
Sometimes, when the silence grows too heavy, I find myself wondering how we lost it all. It's hard not to. "The day the world stood still" or "The beginning of the end"-those were the phrases thrown around by the few survivors I've encountered. An acquaintance, now long lost, described it as a day when neither science, religion, nor magic had the answers. No one had foretold that June 16th, 2066, would be the last day ever officially recorded. A day that began like any other, only to unravel into chaos before our very eyes. It was as if the universe itself decided to hit the reset button, leaving us stranded in a nightmare we couldn't wake up from.
I flinched as I heard a voice-a voice I hadn't heard in years, calling me by a name only one person ever used: "Daddy." My heart stopped. My daughter. I could hear her voice, clear and unmistakable, beckoning me through the thick veil of darkness. "It had to be her," I thought as I stumbled toward the quivering voice in the dark alley. I knew she was alive, she had to be. My little girl, my angel, was waiting for me.
"Daddy, please, I'm in pain!" she cried harder, her voice trembling with desperation, drowning out all reason.
The sound of her suffering pierced through my chest, compelling me to move faster, to find her, to save her from whatever horror had found her in this godforsaken place.
I reached out to take her into my arms, just as I did five years ago, before she was taken from me; before this hell on earth began.
She was just as I remembered her-so small, so delicate, her eyes filled with the same innocence that had once brought light into my life. But as I drew closer, something in her expression shifted. That innocent smile, the one I had held onto for so long, twisted into something grotesque, something wrong. My heart lurched as the root of my neck felt cold, a shiver running down my spine.
Suddenly, the world tilted. I could feel the ground getting closer, as if I were falling, even though I hadn't moved. My daughter's image flickered, her form wavering like a mirage, before she began to fade away, her evil grin still present, even as she disappeared into the shadows. I could still feel my body, even as my head bounced across the pavement, the sharp, metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. I had been beheaded-alive, but beheaded-and yet, all I could think of, even as the pain dragged me toward unconsciousness, was how I could no longer remember that innocent smile, no matter how hard I tried. All that remained, all that replaced those beautiful memories, was that dark n my little girl's face.
"Damn, you're quite brutal to your own father," a man dressed in a fancy dark outfit remarked to the woman in the black trench coat standing beside him. He spoke with a casual indifference, as though he had seen this sort of thing a hundred times before. "I know he's still alive and all, but damn," he muttered under his breath, casting a sideways glance at her as she cleaned the edge of her sword with a fine cloth. The blade gleamed in the dim light, its surface reflecting the dull, gray sky above. She gave him no reply; she didn't have to, and she didn't need to. Her silence was answer enough.
With a deliberate, almost reverent motion, she picked up the man's severed head, cradling it in her hands as she looked at the face of the man who had given her life and raised her. Her cold eyes, usually hard as steel, softened for a brief moment as she rubbed his cheek with her thumb, the gesture a fleeting echo of the love that had once existed between them. Carefully, she placed his head into a safe, closing the lid with a soft click, and turned to the car. Her voice, low and melodic, rang out like music in the background, commanding and undeniable. "Get the rest of him."
The man who accompanied her wanted to protest, but he bit his tongue, thinking better of it. He knew better than to argue with her, the most dangerous woman in the world. Instead, he sighed, a sound heavy with resignation, as he moved to restrain the headless body, lifting it with a grunt and tossing it into the back seat of the SUV like so much dead weight.
As the engine roared to life, the woman climbed into the passenger seat, the safe resting securely on her lap. The wind whipped through the open windows, tugging at her hair as they sped down the empty road. She closed her eyes, letting the breeze wash over her.
Memories of her childhood danced through her mind, unbidden and unwanted. She saw herself running through the streets behind their house, her father chasing after her, his laughter filling the air. She saw her mother, Mary, kneeling by the garden, her hands dirty with soil, her smile radiant in the summer sun. Those were the days of innocence, of peace-a time before the world had gone mad. But those memories, no matter how vivid, held no power over her now. They were relics of a life long gone, and she had no place for sentimentality in the task that lay ahead.
The road stretched out before them, a twisted ribbon of cracked asphalt leading into the unknown. The sky above was dark, an endless expanse of swirling clouds that seemed to press down on the earth, suffocating all that remained. The future was as bleak as the landscape, but for the woman in the passenger seat, it didn't matter. The past was dead, the present was hell, and the future was inevitable. As they drove on, the woman's thoughts drifted back to her father, to the man he had once been.
A part of her, buried deep beneath layers of resolve and determination, mourned the loss of the man who had loved her unconditionally, who had protected her from the evils of the world. But that part of her was small