The Snow Falls

( A/N: This was an assignment for a class; I had to write a Science Fiction story in twelve sentences! You can count, I did it exactly. XD )

The world ended on a fiery day, not long ago. Balls of flame burst from the sky as the missiles we had all feared were fired from every country that possessed them, leaving the world in cold and in chaos. A few survivors remain, I among their number, who lived through the attacks unscathed and who have enough fortitude to live in the solitude, despite fighting amongst ourselves for food and shelter. Even though the weapons stopped firing and the flames have all gone out, there is no peace, for we must be constantly vigilant to watch for enemies approaching and attempting to steal what is ours. There are seventeen of us survivors in my group; eight women and nine men who had the genetic mutation to be able to survive the nuclear explosions and remain sane, while many others either perished or were crippled beyond all hope of salvation. As we all sit underneath a broken down shed, another group approaches, armed with knives, ready to fight for the shelter we have and the food we have buried in the fallen snow. Mark, our leader, does not bat an eye when the scouts tell him they are approaching, for he was a military commander before the end, and he is well trained in this sort of fight, and he knows our situation is helped by the fact that we possess some of the last human guns this world will ever see. By simply showing the other group we have the pistols, we give them reason to doubt their mission and scare them off and a combination of women and men, for gender no longer matters, are able to finish them off quickly. We return to our solitude, saying very little amongst ourselves, but I for one, am thinking of the past and the future, of the apocalyptic films of the last era, and what will happen in the future, an instable and clouded concept. In this age of death and destruction, many can't begin to imagine starting a new life in all this chaos, but it seems to be the only thing that keeps my weary and wounded body moving as I stand guard over our shelter, looking up to the heavens and wondering what comes next. The gray of the sky evenly blend with a thousand other colors, swirling into beautiful yet wretched patterns.

A flake hits my nose as the snow starts to fall.