A frail looking young man with white and pale skin staggered through the quite street. He was in a black puffy jacket and a red skirt made of nylon material- it was clear that the man was drunk. The way he staggered, the way he dressed, they all made it clear.

His eyelids were dark and dull indicating lack of sleep,his cheeks were shallow- indicating malnutrition

The young man stumbled across the road very often but kept his eyes on his destination.

He kept on stumbling across the empty and quiet street till he struck a trash can and fell upon it like a piece of trash he really is.

"Ughh"

His sight caught the presence of a newspaper - peeping from the trash. The young man grew interest in it and pulled it out.

The headlines read: TODAY MARKS THE 10TH YEAR SINCE THE APOCALYPSE.

He scoffed and threw the paper away in disappointment and pain, it was obvious that the headlines reminded him of something in the past, probably something painful.

With the help of his tiny fingers, he scrambled to his feet and tried to maintain a stable position but his body opposed.

He looked like he remembered something and was about to try it out.

For a moment, there was hope and determination in his eyes, he stared at his long and thin fingers like he was expecting something to happen- more like he was trying to conjure something.

He positioned his hands like he was holding a baseball and shifted his gaze at the wall about 10 meters away from him.

The young man didn't utter a word but his body language changed as he stared at the wall far from him, he adjusted his posture - like he was in a battlefield and was about to launch a deadly attack.

His right hand remained in that position, he gently raised it above his head as if he was about to throw an invincible base ball. His overall posture made him look dangerous and powerful: not considering the skirt he was wearing.

He muffled a word beneath his breathe and took a heavy breathe like he was channelling some sort of power through his body. His eyes were gently shot.

"Eat this" He yelled

Finally, he let out his right hand which he had hung in air..as if he threw the invincible baseball at the wall. It swung like a whip aimed at the wall.

"Ughhh"

Nothing happened, he made a fool out of himself. He fell to the ground and sobbed as a familiar pain struck his burnt chest.

Not long after, the pain faded and was replaced by the buzz of alcohol. He stood up and made his way home.

In less than a minutes, he arrived in front of an elegant mansion- one that doesn't befit him, it looked too elegant and luxurious for a trash like him. He stumbled into the compound and made his way into the luxurious living room.

His sight caught the presence of a huge picture frame which hung on the wall- in the picture, 5 kids; two girls and three boys stood in front of an old man who seemed to be their father. They were all dressed in fine Royal blue suit and this drunkard is one of the kids in the frame

"Ughh.." He ran his fingers across the image and uttered a sentence.

"I miss you" he wept and crash into the sofa opposite the huge Tv.

His hand grabbed the remote, he turned on the Tv and almost immediately a young man on the news began to speak.

He shifted his gaze to the old bald man sitting beside him in the studio.

"It's been 24 years since Mr Campbell introduced the super kids to the country....." He began

"Umm.. At first, people fought him and made bad comment about him.. They said it was child abuse and Campbell should return the kids to their parents or go to jail but Mr Campbell didn't care, he made those kids national treasure, he saved the world with those kids until...." He paused

"The apocalypse".

The journalist words attracted the drunkard who was sitting in Mr Campbell's mansion. He adjusted his posture and wipe his eyes with the back of his hands.

For a moment, he looked normal and okay, he paid maximum attention to the news while biting his fingers.

" Today marks the tenth year since the apocalypse." The journalist continued.

"The tenth year since the fall of the 5 super kids" he cooed with a sad tone

"Today...." The journalist was interrupted by the drunkard. He turned the television off and yelled

"I'M STILL ALIVE YOU BASTARD" he threw the remote against the wall and tousled his hair