Barren. All is barren. I think I am the last one. The last one breathing such wretched air. As of now, the fallen are in their passive stage, but as soon as The Bird sings, all hell breaks loose. To hide my living scent, I’ve covered myself with the blood of the dormant dead. While the cold sticky liquid permeates my clothes and flesh I am unsure of how long this disguise can protect me.
Surrounding me are abandoned cars, probably left over from the plague that struck, and I realize that I am located in a parking lot. Oddly enough there is a brick wall centered in the lot, standing tall and seemingly unaware of the turmoil that has occurred. I try to emulate the wall’s strength and aloofness as I walk through the ruins of my past world, carefully avoiding the stiff bodies of the plague’s victims scattered throughout.
Perched at the top of the bricks is The Bird. Almost robotic in its motions and nearly as unforgiving in its nature, it locks eyes with me. Once the shrill call of The Bird leaves it’s beak, the fallen spring to action with pre-wired athleticism. With their gait smooth and rotting limbs flailing, they make a beeline towards me.
I rush towards that brick wall and crash my skull against it, matching the thuds with the song of The Bird with the intent to kill myself before they reach me. Each crack of my skull against the bricks is deafening, and combined with the bird call we create a jarring melody for the dead.
And then I woke up.