The Shadows of People

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
This little novel talks about a person, who survived nuclear war in a city.

Submitted: August 08, 2016

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Submitted: August 08, 2016



The Shadows of People



I hate the searing of flame and rattling of guns. Smoke and gunpowder fills that, what once was known as air. The earth cuts and air stabs. Like a million needles, that fall as rain into ashened mud.

Everywhere is dust and sand. Food is molded and rotten. It fills the stomach, but kills internally. The fridge is grey with dust and inside is the head of someone I loved. The expression on her is the same as when she died. I never found time nor security enough to bury her. From the window I can see a crater and the shadows that appeared with the earth shattering explosion. They stand there, like they stood when there were still people who made them appear and call me to join them. Egon tried to join them, but he melted. A bullet from a faraway sniper ended his pain, if he even felt it. He laughed before death found him.

It was good to see this damned world end. Apocalyptic war reached its zenith and all suffered because of it. They sent us fire and we answered with same. That's the human nature after all. This day will be remembered as a day when skies rained fire.

Fire scorched half of you and the rest fell apart with air. Half of you burned quickly and the other half decayed slowly. I saw from your white eyes, that you no longer can't manage the pain. These eyes, that once were deep-sea blue and smirked at me when I proposed to you. These eyes that showed your strength when our son was born.These eyes that teared when war was declared. These eyes that lost pupils, when the bombs exploded. I just hope that you forgive me. I like to belive, that what I did was mercy, not butchery.

They are coming for me. Steps silent but sharp, breathing loud and throbbing. There is only so little that a gas mask can do to help one survive the Apocalypse. They call themselves Angels of the End but Lucifer was also an angel.

„There is no more reason to hold myself back anymore.“

I grabbed the kitchen knife. The same knife that I used to slit her throat. It was still red with her blood. Little particles of grey ash dotted the once smooth sanguine colour. Black handle turned slippy with sweat the moment I grabbed it. Now they were behind the door and touching the handle. It was locked. I put myself next to the door and waited them to kick it in. For a few secounds nothing happened and then with a strong blow the door was struck open. A gas masked man ran inside, gun on the ready. I slid the kitchen knife through his skin, flesh, cartilage, artery and wind-pipe. He gurgled and fell on the ground. The feeling after making a kill adds surprising amounts of euphoria. The fact that one took a life from another strikes the killers' head so hard, that there is only the need for more. More death, more slices, more stabs, more thursts. Doesn't matter how. What matters is that you get it.

There was a secound servant of Lucifer and he shot me. Bullet pierced my guts and went through my back. Right into the body of the man I killed. The sweet pain that the bullet brought with it wanted to drown me, but I swam through it, waiting for a moment to strike. Clearly the pagan thought that he had killed me. I just waited kneeling, scarlet blood flowing. My opponent came closer to check if his comrade is still alive. While he was doing that I put a finger in my gunwound and pushed it. The mixture of guts, blood and the bullet brought a stab of pain inside me, but also flash of energy and with a growl I jumped on the secound fighter and struck the knife in eye. I had pierced the glass that the gas mask put in front of eyes and when I slith my knife out of the cut. Little pieces of shining glass fell in the wound. Sadly, the man was already dead. I got on my feet, body full of energy and took a step. They say that no man can survive a gut wound but I decided to be the first. I stepped near my medical cabin. The rotten wood floor creaked under sore feet, but I didn't care anymore. The cabin was next to a window, or what was left of it. The pressure of the explosion shattered glasses. I saw the body of Egon, or the parts that were left of it. Dust and ashes had taken it in their humble embrace. I see a flash through the remains of the window.


The flash came from the same place where it came when Egon was suffering. One secound more and the sniper bullet will pierce me. Four more secounds and I can hear the shot.




- Königstiger

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