Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities).
On the 3rd of April 2025, there was the Bermuda sky. It was the curse of the night. The ring moon we once knew pelted into a dull triangle, three edges and three vertices in grey overcast and in came the darkest of nights which will last forever, where the sun no longer rose to give light and hope. At the full moon we embraced on midsummer and gloriously basked in the meditation of stargazing, gave birth to an odd, triangular star soaring high above the black night, foreshadowing the annihilation of mankind.
We headed indoors and locked our doors as fast as we could, our hearts racing faster than our bodies understood, as foul “things” looking like black smoky wisps appeared. These things eat men and women and will not hesitate to take your children. At a distance, I could hear two other kids’ screaming cries and upon hearing their hands and legs being pulled out apart by those things I almost broke down in a meltdown panic. Dismembering body parts, no no no no no no no no no. No. Ken, my dear little brother and I, ran as fast as we could into our safe house with a tiny torch we both shared, hustling down into our basement fort all rattled, while bolting up the doors, shuttering reinforced windows and securing gaps with added wood planks that were gathered from the shed. We could still hear the thing’s breath…drawing near. I put my hands over Ken’s mouth and waited in the quiet, not moving a millimetre lift of a feather, not even letting my eyes roam.
Many lives were taken, including our parents, but we were not done living yet. Right now, as we sip leftover dirt rain water sitting with our soiled pants on rusty chairs in this hyper-catastrophe dystopia, we continue to fight with the last of our might. And, although young and clueless to most things as we should at this juncture, we know that tomorrow is the future and it still belongs to any of us who wants it badly. If Mom was here, she would indefinitely give her very best to keep us alive even when her body is no longer able to, so this is what we are doing, doing what Mom does best, for us. Gawd, I had to cry every time when I think of Mom and Dad. No longer just about missing them and having them around. Not only were they the best parents in the world, they loved us to bits. Ken and I. It just wasn't fair - Bermuda and these foul things got to them fast, ripping their bodies with the audacity to spit out our mom and dad’s brains on the sofa as we hid behind a bookshelf a meter across, staring straight into a sight so gross it had to be the ultimate symbol of parental death. This was the final end leaving us both abandoned and devastated in the middle of the woods where our home was. We walked for 22 days before we could find a safe house built on fortified walls, something we could at least count on in the meantime scavenging for food.
To be continued.
Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities).