Warning: this chapter may have bloody
so I won't force you to read this novel
if you want to read it anyway
Then you can continue
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Paulo's stomach growled, a hollow echo of the emptiness that gnawed at him. Hunger was a constant companion, a brutal reminder of his desperate situation. He had been walking for hours, the sun a relentless tormentor, his throat parched and raw. Finally, he spotted a grocery store, a beacon of hope in this desolate world.
The shelves were stripped bare, picked clean by others desperate for survival. But Paulo found a small bag of chips and a bandage, a meager reward in this ravaged landscape. He used the bandage to wrap his injured hand, the sting of the antiseptic a stark contrast to the dull ache that pulsed through his arm. He devoured the chips, each bite a fleeting moment of satisfaction, a temporary reprieve from the gnawing hunger.
Exhaustion took over, and Paulo slumped against a dusty shelf, his eyelids heavy. He woke to the darkness of night, the air thick with the silence of an abandoned world.
"It's night. I can't leave yet," he whispered, his voice hoarse, a mere echo in the vast emptiness.
He ate the last of the chips, but it wasn't enough. His stomach cramped, a sharp, twisting pain that sent him scrambling to the bathroom.
"I won't be full if I only eat this," he mumbled, fear gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. He was running out of time, running out of options.
Morning arrived, a sliver of light peeking through the boarded-up windows. The second day of his survival.
Paulo grabbed a knife from the cashier's counter, a cold steel comfort in his hand. He ventured outside, the knife tucked into his pants, a silent promise of protection. He saw a police station, its windows shattered, its doors hanging open like a gaping wound.
The roof was crumbling, threatening to cave in. But inside, he found a treasure trove of forgotten weapons: an AK-47, a black jacket, and a box of bullets. He grabbed them, a surge of desperate hope coursing through him.
"I don't know how to use it, but it's better to have it," he muttered, his heart pounding in his chest.
He walked back to the grocery store, his steps heavy with the weight of his newfound burden. A shout ripped through the silence, and Paulo instinctively ran, his heart hammering against his ribs.
A figure loomed in front of him, and Paulo raised the AK-47, his finger trembling on the trigger.
"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice barely a whisper.
The figure laughed, a cruel, mocking sound that sent shivers down Paulo's spine. He lunged at Paulo, and he fired, the deafening roar of the gun echoing in the empty street.
The bullet struck the man in the head, and he crumpled to the ground, a lifeless heap.
"I... I killed someone," Paulo choked out, his hands shaking uncontrollably.
The weight of his action settled on him, a crushing burden. He ran, his legs burning, his breath ragged. He stumbled back into the grocery store, slamming the door shut. He wedged a piece of wood into the doorjamb, desperate for a semblance of security.
"I didn't do it because I wanted to," he whispered, a desperate plea for self-justification.
He slapped himself, the sting of pain a reminder of the reality of his actions.
"Don't tell me I'm infected. But how? When?" he muttered, his mind racing.
The third day of his survival. Paulo packed a bag with what little supplies he had left, the AK-47 heavy in his hand. He removed the wood, the door creaking open like a wounded animal. He stepped out, his senses on high alert.
Two figures emerged from the shadows, their voices a chilling echo in the stillness.
"It's boring. Can't we kill anyone now?" one of them said, his voice laced with boredom and a hint of malice.
Paulo ducked behind a car, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Kill both of them," a voice whispered in his head, a voice that wasn't his own.
He pressed his face against the cold metal of the car, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Suddenly, his hand felt better, the pain receding as if by magic. He raised the AK-47, his finger tightening on the trigger.
He fired, the bullets tearing through the air, finding their targets with deadly accuracy. The two figures crumpled to the ground, their lives extinguished in a matter of seconds.
He laughed, a hollow, echoing sound that felt alien in his own ears. He fell to his knees, his body trembling, his mind reeling.
"I... I killed people again," he whispered, the words tasting like ash on his tongue.
He slammed his fists against the pavement, the pain a welcome distraction from the overwhelming guilt that threatened to consume him.
"It's not my fault. I'm sorry that I still want to live," he muttered, his voice a broken plea.
He ran, his legs burning, his lungs screaming for air. He found a house, its windows boarded up, its door ajar. The memory of the two figures he had killed, their lifeless eyes staring back at him, filled him with a cold, consuming anger.
He bit his lip until it bled, the sharp pain a temporary reprieve from the torment within.
"I will kill them all," he whispered, his voice a low growl of primal rage.
He stormed through the house, his footsteps echoing in the empty rooms. He returned to the grocery store, his movements automatic, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.
He grabbed five more bags of chips, stuffing them into his bag. Nightfall descended, and exhaustion finally claimed him. He slept, the nightmares of the day chasing him into the depths of his subconscious.
The fifth day of his survival. He woke up, his body stiff, his mind heavy with the weight of his actions. He grabbed his bag and the AK-47, his only companions in this desolate world. He left the grocery store, his steps leading him deeper into the unknown.
He saw a gate, a sign hanging crookedly above it.
"Huh, a sign," he said, his voice a raspy whisper.
Mount Purro.
He entered the forest, the trees towering above him, their branches reaching out like grasping hands. He found a large rock, its surface smooth and worn. He sat down, his body aching for rest. He pulled out the chips, the smell of artificial flavor a faint reminder of a world that seemed so far away.
Suddenly, a boy appeared in front of him, his eyes wide with fear and desperation. He ran towards Paulo, his small body a blur of motion. Paulo raised the AK-47, his finger tightening on the trigger.
But when he looked into the boy's eyes, he saw a flicker of something else: a desperate plea for help. He lowered the gun, his hand trembling.
Two men emerged from behind the boy, their faces twisted with malice. The boy trembled, his eyes wide with terror.
"Who are you two?" Paulo demanded, his voice strained.
They laughed, their laughter echoing through the trees, a chilling sound that sent shivers down his spine.
"Haha, God really gave me something. Two more. But why do I feel like you are one of us?" one of them said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Paulo was taken aback, their words striking a chord within him. He felt a surge of anger, a primal instinct to defend himself, to protect this child who seemed so vulnerable. He smiled, a cruel, twisted smile that mirrored the darkness that had taken root within him.
"One of you? Weak creatures, don't make me laugh," he said, his voice a low growl.
The boy shivered again, backing away from the men.
"What? What did you say?" one of the men shouted, his voice laced with fury.
They lunged at Paulo, their knives glinting in the sunlight. He raised the AK-47, his finger tightening on the trigger.
"Hihi, you are done," he said, his voice a chilling whisper.
He fired, the bullets tearing through the air, finding their targets with deadly precision. The two men crumpled to the ground, their lives extinguished in a flash of violence.
"Ha, what happened? Wait, the opponent," he muttered, looking down at the lifeless bodies.
He returned to the rock, his stomach churning with a mixture of relief and guilt. He ate the chips, the taste bland, the texture unappealing.
"...Why is this boy following me?" Paulo thought, his gaze falling upon the child, who was watching him with a mixture of fear and hunger.
He handed him a bag of chips, his heart heavy with a strange sense of responsibility.
"Tomorrow, we will be separated. You have to live alone. Don't trust anyone," he said, his voice gruff, his words a stark contrast to the smile that played on his lips.
He spread out his sleeping bag, the rough fabric a meager comfort in this desolate world. The boy huddled beside him, his small body trembling with fear. They slept, the silence of the forest broken only by the rustling of leaves and the distant howl of a wolf.
"It's been three days, but why is this boy still following me?" Paulo thought, his mind struggling to reconcile the conflicting emotions that churned within him.
He turned to the boy, his eyes wide and innocent.
"Listen to me, kid. Why are you following me?" he said, his voice gentle, his heart aching with a strange sense of protectiveness.
The boy's eyes filled with tears, and he looked down, his voice choked with emotion.
"Ok, fine, but you have to defend yourself," Paulo said, his voice firm, his words a promise of protection.
The boy's face lit up with a smile, a spark of hope in the darkness of his world.
Nightfall descended, and they returned to the rock, their stomachs growling with hunger.
"Tell me, kid, what's your name?" Paulo said, his voice soft, his heart yearning for a connection in this desolate world.
The boy stopped eating, his eyes fixed on Paulo's.
"Mathew Robin. What about you, Kuya?" he said, his voice filled with a childlike innocence that pierced through the darkness that had taken root within Paulo.
"Paulo Sandigo. Where are your parents? Why are you alone?" Paulo asked, his voice filled with a strange sense of empathy, a feeling that he had almost forgotten.
The boy's face fell, and his eyes filled with tears.
"They were dead four days ago," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Paulo felt a pang of guilt, his words a cruel reminder of the boy's loss.
"Sorry for asking," he said, his voice filled with remorse.
"It's ok," the boy said, his voice a fragile whisper.
He smiled, a fleeting moment of joy in the midst of his sorrow. He lay down, his small body curled up against the rock, and drifted off to sleep.
"Kill him. So he doesn't suffer anymore," a voice whispered in Paulo's head, the voice of darkness that had taken root within him.
He covered his eyes and mouth, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Shut up," he whispered, his voice a desperate plea.
He looked at the boy, his face peaceful in sleep. He lay down beside him, his body weary, his mind tormented. They slept, the silence of the forest a heavy blanket that suffocated them both.
Tomorrow.
Paulo played games with Mathew, trying to distract him from the horrors he had witnessed. They caught rabbits, their fur soft beneath their hands, their eyes filled with a primal fear that mirrored Paulo's own. He felt a strange sense of joy, a fleeting moment of normalcy in this chaotic world.
"Hehe, are you happy today?" Paulo said, his voice filled with a forced cheerfulness, his heart aching with a longing for a world that had been lost.
They walked back to the big rock, their steps heavy with the weight of their shared experiences.
"Yes, of course," Mathew said, his smile a beacon of hope in the darkness that surrounded them.
End of 14 days.
August 15, 2024.
Fifteen days. Fifteen days since the world had ended. Fifteen days since Paulo had lost everything.
They were walking, their footsteps silent on the forest floor, their senses on high alert. They were hunting rabbits, a desperate attempt to survive in this desolate world.
Suddenly, a hand clamped down on Paulo's arm, pulling him to the ground. He fell, his body hitting the earth with a thud. He saw a figure looming over him, his face twisted with malice.
Mathew saw what was happening, and he ran towards Paulo, his small body a blur of motion.
"Don't come here," Paulo shouted, his voice filled with a desperate plea, his heart aching with a fear that he had never known before.
Another figure emerged from behind Mathew, a knife glinting in his hand. He pushed Mathew to the ground, his eyes filled with a cold, calculating cruelty.
Mathew fell, his small body crumpled on the forest floor. Paulo saw tears streaming down his face, but his smile remained, a beacon of innocence in the face of unimaginable evil.
"I'm sorry for being a burden to you, Kuya. Thank you very much for helping me. Goodbye," he said, his voice filled with a heartbreaking sadness, his words a testament to his unwavering spirit.
He cut off Mathew's head, the blade of his knife slicing through flesh and bone with sickening ease. Paulo felt a darkness consume him, a primal rage that threatened to consume him. He screamed, a raw, guttural sound that tore from his throat, a sound that echoed the pain and despair that filled his heart.
"Nooooooooo," Paulo shouted, his voice a broken whisper, his tears flowing freely, a torrent of grief that he could no longer control.
He struggled to his feet, his body trembling with a mixture of rage and despair. He pulled the knife from his pocket, its cold steel a comforting weight in his hand. He lunged at the figure who had taken Mathew's life, his eyes burning with a fire that could not be quenched.
"You... you just killed my friend. I will kill you too," Paulo said, his voice a low growl, his words a promise of vengeance.
The man ran towards him, his knife raised, his eyes filled with a cold, calculating cruelty. Paulo met his attack, his movements swift and deadly. He grabbed the man's wrist, twisting it with a sickening crack. He plunged the knife into his neck, the blade sinking deep into his flesh. The man fell to the ground, his lifeblood staining the forest floor a crimson red.
Paulo stood over his body, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his heart pounding in his chest. He looked down at the lifeless figure, his eyes filled with a mixture of hatred and sorrow.
He walked towards Mathew's body, his steps heavy with grief. He knelt beside him, his heart aching with a pain that he had never known before.
"Waahhhhhhh. Why? Why did this happen to me? Is fate angry with me?" Paulo shouted, his voice a broken wail, his tears flowing freely, a testament to the depth of his despair.
He dug a shallow grave, his hands raw and bleeding, his body aching with exhaustion. He buried Mathew's body, the earth swallowing him whole, leaving behind only a small mound of dirt.
He returned to the big rock, his body weary, his mind tormented. He sat down, his back against the cold stone, his eyes fixed on the horizon, a horizon that seemed to stretch on forever, a horizon that offered no solace, no hope, no escape from the darkness that had consumed him.
Mathew's past before he met Paulo.
Mathew was walking with his parents, their hands clasped in his, their laughter echoing through the trees. They were happy, a family united by love and laughter. But then, two men emerged from the shadows, their faces twisted with malice, their eyes burning with a cold, calculating cruelty. They lunged at them, their knives glinting in the sunlight. Mathew's father pushed him away, his voice a desperate plea for him to run. Mathew ran, his small legs pumping, his heart pounding in his chest. He looked back, his eyes filled with terror, and he saw them kill his parents, their lives extinguished in a flash of violence.
He ran, his small body a blur of motion, his mind filled with fear and confusion. He didn't see anyone until he saw Paulo. Paulo pointed a gun at him, his eyes filled with a cold, calculating cruelty. Two men followed him, their faces twisted with malice, their eyes burning with a desire to kill. Mathew was terrified, but every time he was with Paulo, his fear subsided, replaced by a strange sense of security.
He was surprised when Paulo said that they would be separated tomorrow. He didn't want to leave him. He was afraid. He didn't have anyone else. Paulo cooked for him every day, gave him food, and played games with him. He was like a brother to him, a brother he had lost in an accident years ago.
On the fourth day, he was shaking, his body trembling with fear. Paulo gave him his jacket, his warmth a comforting embrace. He felt Paulo's love, a love that he had almost forgotten. They played games, hunted rabbits, and laughed together. He was so grateful to Paulo, so grateful for his kindness, his compassion, his love. He was ready to be with his parents and his brother again.
Now.
Paulo took his things, his body heavy with grief, his mind filled with a darkness that he could no longer ignore. He walked, his steps heavy, his heart aching with a pain that he could not escape. He walked towards Antipolo, his destination a place that held no solace, no hope, no escape from the darkness that had consumed him.