Written 01/21/2018

This is my friend's story.


Seven… Seven… Seven. The number repeats itself in my head. I realize that I only have seven days left to live. One week, seven days, 168 hours, 10080 minutes, 604800 seconds. Now 604799, 604798... And it goes on and on and on. 604796, 604795 seconds left. I thought I had all the time in the world, and now with the world black as hell, I only have seven days until I freeze to death, or run out of food, or become too dehydrated. Either way, I am going to die sooner or later, just as we all do.

A rock falling from the sky crashes against the sturdy earth that could shake even the Statue of Liberty to the ground, because it did. Apparently another one had landed somewhere in Africa, but it had sent a cloud of dust over the entire atmosphere, covering the sun and blocking all satellite connections. Before the connections cut out, news stations blared warnings and recited eulogies of people that died from the impact, or committed suicide from the inevitable death we would all face. Sometimes, there would just be lists of names. Name after name after name. The dust covers the world like a soft blanket, severing off any sunlight reaching the ground. I was sent to steal water, matches, and food from the markets before everyone else joined in. It had been the first time I really committed a crime.

Sirens wail along with the numerous people in the city I live in. Looters bring glass doors shattering to the ground in a million pieces, and lost souls crawl out of their windows, trying to make the chaos stop. It's too much. I keep my head down to try to save what is left of my innocence.

Stealing supplies is fairly easy but keeping it away from everyone is a different story. People push and shove me to the ground, trying to take away a water bottle or a granola bar. I don't cry, though. I can't in this situation. I manage to escape the store with a sack of everything I need to survive for at least two weeks. So I head back to my bunker, back to my family.

Grandpa and Mom are the only ones to make it this far. My sister had died of dust inhalation back in the beginning, before the masses of people started dying too. Of course, she was a newborn. Dad was killed in a robbery attempt. He was stabbed by a person trying to get his supplies.

"Thanks, kid! You keep us alive," my grandpa whispers with a winded sigh. He's dying, too. Mom coughs while she drinks a bit of water. I unpack my supplies, but then I hear the door crash in the entrance. Then there were gunshots.

"Drop your goods and no one will get shot. I will use violence!" a woman's voice screams. She runs into our room. She has bruises all over her body with a crying infant on her chest in a sling. I feel bad for the woman, but I have to do anything I can to survive. She holds up her gun like she really does want to hurt us.

"Please, don't do this. My grandpa and mom are dying."

"Well, so am I. So is my baby. We are all dying and there's nothing you can do to stop it. Just give me your things!"

"No!" I defy her. With that she cocks her gun and aims it for Grandpa. I jump right in front before the bullet reaches his heart and it lodges itself into my chest. She gasps like she doesn't know what she was doing, and she obviously doesn't. She immediately runs away from us without stealing any supplies, but it doesn't take the silver that settles in my heart.

Blood is everywhere. I can't breathe. Oh God, I can't breathe

Mom and Grandpa hold me in their arms, crying like the infant on that murderous woman. They say they are sorry, but maybe this happened for a reason. I count the time again. 0 hours, 0 minutes and 30 seconds.

29, 28, 27. I guess I never really got my lucky seven days.

12, 11, 10, 9 left. I look at my family's faces as tears drop on my face.

7, 6, 5.

"I love you, and I'll see you again someday."

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