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Description
Each face is laden with doubt, Mark thought, staring at the little accumulation of children. He himself was not much older then they, but he assumed a leader's role when he saw the confusion in their eyes, and the fear mirrored on each face. His own feelings were masked by the sternness that had developed from surviving many trials.
Every day here in Seattle was a confrontation with one's worst fears, and every day all the people would look for a savior; each day the populace was thrown back into sullen gloom without that one thing they needed: hope. The ability to survive a crisis such as the one that had befallen them seemed just out of reach.

"Fire raining from sky
Earth swallowing buildings whole
Acid bubbling out of seas
Wind tearing up forests
The apocalypse is upon us."

Mark eyed the graffiti clumsily painted on the side of a partially wrecked building as he picked his way through debris strewn across the street.  As far as he could see, an ocean of shattered dreams sprawled out in all directions, enveloping all that was once good and pure and full of life, and replacing it with massacred remnants of a glorious past. Mark shuddered as he thought about his own past, his murdered parents' bodies still lying where he had left them in their quiet apartment, rotting and stinking. He couldn't help but picture their grotesque, bloody faces inertly pleading at him, "help… us… please…"
He shuddered again, and refocused on the children tagging along behind him. One of them stumbled on a rusted hubcap and fell on his stomach. Mark turned and helped the sobbing child back on his feet. "Come now," he said as cheerfully as he could muster, his slight British accent protruding into the silence of the city, "not much farther to go." He really didn't know how much farther they had left. "Thank you…" the child mumbled as he dusted off his torn denim shorts, his face angled at the ground and his mottled hair shrouding his eyes.
Mark guessed the child was about seven years old. Why such young children?  he wondered as he heaved a dented aluminum garbage can out of the way to make a path for the ones too small to climb over the rubble. Why not have us die as well? He sighed and tilted his head toward sky, picking out a bright spot in the clouds that he assumed was the sun. It was rather low on the horizon.
"Everyone," he shouted to the children, startling them out of their private thoughts to look at him. One of a pair of twins was playing with a rusted screw, and her sister poked her in the ribs to make her pay attention. She dropped the screw and gave her sister a mean look. Mark gazed at each face until he was certain they were all listening. "Everyone," he repeated, "it's getting late. We need to find a place to sleep and rest for the night. And besides, after dark is when the…" he paused. "…when the bad people come out and try to hurt us." Some of the younger ones gasped.
Mark glanced toward an old garage, and noted how it was miraculously still intact. "There," he pointed toward the structure, "is where we'll stay for the night."



Mark fell back against a cool metal door of the garage, slumping down to a sitting position with his legs spread out in front of him and his arms on the floor next to him.  He sighed, eyeing the last of the little ones who had fallen into an uncomfortable slumber, her head perched precariously on the edge of a torn seat cushion. Mark wished he had a cushion to lean against.
He closed his eyes and dozed, dreaming of his life as a happy child, a child without worries, without fears, without qualms. His serene fantasies cradled him in a comforting embrace, warm and quiet, and lacking the ominous cloud of misfortune that haunted his reality. The pleasant aroma of a freshly baked cake graced his dream as his mind relived his last birthday, complete with all his friends, his family, and a mountain of balloons in all colors.
Mark's virtual escapade to the past was sharply shattered by a tapping on the door behind him. His eyes shot open and he reached for the closest object he could find, brandishing it as a defensive tool should worst come to worst. He crept around sleeping bodies of children whilst approaching the nearest window. Fortunately, it was reinforced with several crisscrossing metal bars, so Mark was a little less worried. He lowered the object slightly, and stole a peek out the barred window.
Beyond the glass, Mark could see nothing but the empty street, hostile silhouettes of ruined structures, and an army of shadows. Perhaps I imagined it, he thought, eyeing the menacing darkness without. He placed the object on the ground and sat down with his back against the wall beneath the window.
Mark stared at his outstretched feet, illuminated by the milky grey moonlight streaming in through the window, and sighed quietly. His first thought was to give in to basic human behavior and sleep away his worries, but he knew that was the wrong choice. He knew he'd just dream of his reality, and he knew that the "dream world" reality is much more fantastic and frightening than reality itself. Instead, he began humming an obsolete song while tapping his fingers to the beat. It was the only thing that had truly comforted him since that day… that day when Hell devoured Earth and left its wretched, discolored remains.



Ever since that damn bomb went off, life's become a nightmarish puppet show, and I'm attached to a gazoo of god damn strings. And then there were those gang wars, and then my parents were… they were… Mark's eyes shot open as he sat up with a start, breathing heavily and drenched in a cold sweat. He looked around to find the children still sleeping. "Must've been a nightmare," he mumbled, hoisting himself to his feet. Out beyond the window the moonlit clouds were replaced by the glow of a Dawn Sun on the horizon. Mark smiled when he saw the star, because it was a very rare occurrence in those times, and he thought he should savor it.
"I shouldn't hog this beautiful sight," he said aloud after a moment of quiet contemplation. He turned his attention towards waking the children in hopes that they too could behold the wondrous spectacle. "Everyone!" Mark bellowed, "Everyone look!" Here and there children were groggily waking from their slumber, some ready for the new day and others wanting to continue dozing into the morning hours.
Mark rushed to unlatch and open the garage door to let the kids out. He knew that the dangers of the night had passed, and that it was safe to exit the building. He flung open the door and dashed outside to feel the warm sunlight on his face, and was closely followed by over half the company of children who longed for the same experience.
He suddenly felt his left hand being pulled. He turned toward the disturbance to find a little blond-haired girl holding a rusted screw. "Where's my sister?" she asked him, sounding scared. Mark searched the crowd for the twin girl, but to no avail. He walked back to the garage holding the little one's hand as he went, but did not find the sister there either. "I don't know," he mumbled despondently. Tears began to well up in her eyes, "But… But… my sister…"
"Please don't cry. I'm sure we'll find her eventually."
"Do -sniff- Do you think so?"
"I know so."
Mark led her back to the group of children. The bad people must have taken her away…  By then, the sun was shrouded in clouds, and the whole company felt the same empty feeling as they did every day. I can't let any more of these kids disappear on me. I swear that, from now on, I'll do my best and more to keep us all safe… Well, nothing left to do but keep walking.
"We're going to press onward, and we need to stick together to see this horrible tragedy through," Mark said to the children. "We will survive or die trying!" He turned down the street and started to walk, doggedly followed by the company.
Mark knew that life may have become a living hell for all of them, but that didn't mean they should give up. He did not know how much farther they had to go, and he did not know where they were going, but he would never let those dilemmas stop him or cause him to doubt. That was just incentive to go further, to discover the truth, and to live another day. The world was his to conquer.

Description
Each face is laden with doubt, Mark thought, staring at the little accumulation of children. He himself was not much older then they, but he assumed a leader's role when he saw the confusion in their eyes, and the fear mirrored on each face. His own feelings were masked by the sternness that had developed from surviving many trials.
Every day here in Seattle was a confrontation with one's worst fears, and every day all the people would look for a savior; each day the populace was thrown back into sullen gloom without that one thing they needed: hope. The ability to survive a crisis such as the one that had befallen them seemed just out of reach.

"Fire raining from sky
Earth swallowing buildings whole
Acid bubbling out of seas
Wind tearing up forests
The apocalypse is upon us."

Mark eyed the graffiti clumsily painted on the side of a partially wrecked building as he picked his way through debris strewn across the street.  As far as he could see, an ocean of shattered dreams sprawled out in all directions, enveloping all that was once good and pure and full of life, and replacing it with massacred remnants of a glorious past. Mark shuddered as he thought about his own past, his murdered parents' bodies still lying where he had left them in their quiet apartment, rotting and stinking. He couldn't help but picture their grotesque, bloody faces inertly pleading at him, "help… us… please…"
He shuddered again, and refocused on the children tagging along behind him. One of them stumbled on a rusted hubcap and fell on his stomach. Mark turned and helped the sobbing child back on his feet. "Come now," he said as cheerfully as he could muster, his slight British accent protruding into the silence of the city, "not much farther to go." He really didn't know how much farther they had left. "Thank you…" the child mumbled as he dusted off his torn denim shorts, his face angled at the ground and his mottled hair shrouding his eyes.
Mark guessed the child was about seven years old. Why such young children?  he wondered as he heaved a dented aluminum garbage can out of the way to make a path for the ones too small to climb over the rubble. Why not have us die as well? He sighed and tilted his head toward sky, picking out a bright spot in the clouds that he assumed was the sun. It was rather low on the horizon.
"Everyone," he shouted to the children, startling them out of their private thoughts to look at him. One of a pair of twins was playing with a rusted screw, and her sister poked her in the ribs to make her pay attention. She dropped the screw and gave her sister a mean look. Mark gazed at each face until he was certain they were all listening. "Everyone," he repeated, "it's getting late. We need to find a place to sleep and rest for the night. And besides, after dark is when the…" he paused. "…when the bad people come out and try to hurt us." Some of the younger ones gasped.
Mark glanced toward an old garage, and noted how it was miraculously still intact. "There," he pointed toward the structure, "is where we'll stay for the night."



Mark fell back against a cool metal door of the garage, slumping down to a sitting position with his legs spread out in front of him and his arms on the floor next to him.  He sighed, eyeing the last of the little ones who had fallen into an uncomfortable slumber, her head perched precariously on the edge of a torn seat cushion. Mark wished he had a cushion to lean against.
He closed his eyes and dozed, dreaming of his life as a happy child, a child without worries, without fears, without qualms. His serene fantasies cradled him in a comforting embrace, warm and quiet, and lacking the ominous cloud of misfortune that haunted his reality. The pleasant aroma of a freshly baked cake graced his dream as his mind relived his last birthday, complete with all his friends, his family, and a mountain of balloons in all colors.
Mark's virtual escapade to the past was sharply shattered by a tapping on the door behind him. His eyes shot open and he reached for the closest object he could find, brandishing it as a defensive tool should worst come to worst. He crept around sleeping bodies of children whilst approaching the nearest window. Fortunately, it was reinforced with several crisscrossing metal bars, so Mark was a little less worried. He lowered the object slightly, and stole a peek out the barred window.
Beyond the glass, Mark could see nothing but the empty street, hostile silhouettes of ruined structures, and an army of shadows. Perhaps I imagined it, he thought, eyeing the menacing darkness without. He placed the object on the ground and sat down with his back against the wall beneath the window.
Mark stared at his outstretched feet, illuminated by the milky grey moonlight streaming in through the window, and sighed quietly. His first thought was to give in to basic human behavior and sleep away his worries, but he knew that was the wrong choice. He knew he'd just dream of his reality, and he knew that the "dream world" reality is much more fantastic and frightening than reality itself. Instead, he began humming an obsolete song while tapping his fingers to the beat. It was the only thing that had truly comforted him since that day… that day when Hell devoured Earth and left its wretched, discolored remains.



Ever since that damn bomb went off, life's become a nightmarish puppet show, and I'm attached to a gazoo of god damn strings. And then there were those gang wars, and then my parents were… they were… Mark's eyes shot open as he sat up with a start, breathing heavily and drenched in a cold sweat. He looked around to find the children still sleeping. "Must've been a nightmare," he mumbled, hoisting himself to his feet. Out beyond the window the moonlit clouds were replaced by the glow of a Dawn Sun on the horizon. Mark smiled when he saw the star, because it was a very rare occurrence in those times, and he thought he should savor it.
"I shouldn't hog this beautiful sight," he said aloud after a moment of quiet contemplation. He turned his attention towards waking the children in hopes that they too could behold the wondrous spectacle. "Everyone!" Mark bellowed, "Everyone look!" Here and there children were groggily waking from their slumber, some ready for the new day and others wanting to continue dozing into the morning hours.
Mark rushed to unlatch and open the garage door to let the kids out. He knew that the dangers of the night had passed, and that it was safe to exit the building. He flung open the door and dashed outside to feel the warm sunlight on his face, and was closely followed by over half the company of children who longed for the same experience.
He suddenly felt his left hand being pulled. He turned toward the disturbance to find a little blond-haired girl holding a rusted screw. "Where's my sister?" she asked him, sounding scared. Mark searched the crowd for the twin girl, but to no avail. He walked back to the garage holding the little one's hand as he went, but did not find the sister there either. "I don't know," he mumbled despondently. Tears began to well up in her eyes, "But… But… my sister…"
"Please don't cry. I'm sure we'll find her eventually."
"Do -sniff- Do you think so?"
"I know so."
Mark led her back to the group of children. The bad people must have taken her away…  By then, the sun was shrouded in clouds, and the whole company felt the same empty feeling as they did every day. I can't let any more of these kids disappear on me. I swear that, from now on, I'll do my best and more to keep us all safe… Well, nothing left to do but keep walking.
"We're going to press onward, and we need to stick together to see this horrible tragedy through," Mark said to the children. "We will survive or die trying!" He turned down the street and started to walk, doggedly followed by the company.
Mark knew that life may have become a living hell for all of them, but that didn't mean they should give up. He did not know how much farther they had to go, and he did not know where they were going, but he would never let those dilemmas stop him or cause him to doubt. That was just incentive to go further, to discover the truth, and to live another day. The world was his to conquer.