End - Short Story

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Hundreds of years in the future, a disease broke out across the globe. Will you survive?

Submitted: December 20, 2009

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Submitted: December 20, 2009

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A A A


It’s raining. It’s as if the skies look down on us, feel sorry for our loss. They want to wash away the pain I feel right now. They want to drown it out.
But they can’t drown my tears.
Water runs down my face, through my hair and soaking my clothes. It slicks the streets and blows through the trees. But I can’t take my eyes off my mother. I can’t take my eyes off the blood falling from her eyes like tears, from the blood seeping from her ears and the drops trickling from her mouth.
She never told us.
My mother had the symptoms. She had the problems.
And now she’s dead.
My father’s hands hold mine tight, keeping me back, pulling me away. I can’t hear my screams. I can’t hear the city’s screams. I only hear my mother’s voice, her hand slipping from mine as she fell. The rain washes the blood from her ghostly face, leaving it pale and shrunken.
Her eyes are open. Her big, brown eyes are wide open, staring into the sky even as water falls onto her. My hand twists through my father’s grip and reaches out to her, and I have a strange feeling I can save her. My fingers, outstretched, are pulled back as my father rushes me forward.
The rest is a blur.
Buildings and screaming people, corpses and cars, everything passes us as he pulls me on. My six year old eyes are horrified, and fear swallows me in a dark haze. Rain falls, every drop slow motion to me, splashing into puddles and dancing on the streets. My streets.
I splash into the puddles with my bare feet, every step spraying my legs. I run faster than I’ve ever ran before. The screams rattle inside my head. The picture of my mother won’t go away.
I don’t notice the helicopter until my father stops, I skid into him. The helicopter lowers itself until it touches the ground, and I see that it’s full of children. One girl has bleach blonde hair, concentrated brown eyes, and stares at me. The pilot yells at my father, but I don’t hear him. It’s not until my father pushes me on board that I yelp in protest.
“Mal, it’s okay. Go with them.” My dad holds me by the shoulders, holds my eyes with his gray ones. I love his eyes. I don’t want them to leave. He yells over the whir. New tears stream down my face.
“But…”
“It’s okay. It’ll all be okay,” he insists, and lets go of me. He backs up from the helicopter, backs up from me, into the screaming world, and the machine rises before I can tell him goodbye. A man grabs me, throws me back into the helicopter, away from the edge. I fall into place by a red haired girl, and I look at her. She’s jittery and is mumbling to herself, eyes glazed over, staring at something straight ahead.
I look out, see my father far below, and call out to him. He stands there, watching. I see a bead of red blood fall from his eye, and my heart skips a beat. “Dad!” I cry. “Dad!’
He shakes his head.
His words echo around in my head. It’ll all be okay. It’ll all be okay.
The helicopter stops rising, hovers, and starts moving forward. I turn my head back to see him, and I catch the slightest glimpse of him falling to the ground in a small puddle of blood.
It’ll all be okay.
 


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