Serendipity

Three- Underground

The enclosed space is getting to me. I shouldn't be complaining, but I am, because it is quite a distraction from the imminent doom that quite literally hangs over our heads.

And when I say literally, I mean it in every sense of the term, as right above our heads hangs a toxic fog, and the only thing keeping it out is the steel cage we are enclosed in.

I will say though, using the word cage is an exaggeration. It's an old laboratory, half buried in the ground, reduced to old rusty metal and broken machinery. Normally, an old laboratory would be good, with lots of rooms and places to store necessities, but the other rooms have been flooded into by the fog, leaving only this room, as far as we can tell.

I'm writing this on the cold floor, with an old stubby pencil and a yellowing ripped piece of paper I found under one of the beds. If that doesn't give you an idea of what our existence is like here, I don't know what will. In fact, our existence isn't much of an existence at all, it's hungry nights and thirsty days and peeing at two in the morning where you will be forced to continue to sleep.

My sister, four years older than me with the ego of a supermodel, likes to tell me off for complaining. She tells me we're alive, and one day we'll get out. Every time I laugh, just to throw her off, and look her dead in the eyes and tell her that we're all going to die.

She doesn't like that, and usually, she cries, and I enjoy watching such raw emotion from someone who once meant so much to me and now means nothing at all.

I sound very crude, I know, but the fact is, I am crude. Once upon a time (had you known me when I was young), I was cheerful and loving and an overall joy, a ball of fluff who knew nothing about the world except for her sister and her parents and the young boy who delivered the papers. As I grew older, and people started dying, I realized life is not worth loving but cursed. After all, the very year I was born was the year the whole thing started.

If you're reading this, than obviously the human race survived, and I can't say I'm surprised. The human race has never seized to impress me in it's undying will to live. I'm writing this- well, I'm partly writing this because I'm extremely bored- but mostly, I'm writing this to tell you what the Earth was like when I was here.

I'm sorry if you find any blood stains on this. Who knows, the fog could get to us soon and push blood out of our skin the way it did our neighbors.

You're probably wondering, what the hell is this fog? Unless, of course, they teach about it in history class in the way that they beautify every damn tragedy. If not- and I really hope not- the fog is the result of global warming, the deterioration of our atmosphere, the atomic bombs used in the Third World War, and even more war weapons. It was a slow process, in which the atmosphere slowly gave way to a sickly green color, which picked at the skin and gave way to boils and forced blood through it's victims' every pore.

My father found this laboratory, sealed off safely from the world, and found as many people as he could and directed them there, not caring that he infected himself in the process. He died while he was out there, and I never saw him again.

Oh no, you must be thinking, that's sad. And yeah, it's sad, but it blends in with my shitty life so well, I hardly even notice it. Although, if you're reading this, than my father didn't die in vain, because the human race prevailed, as always.

It just occurred to me that you might not be English. I can't write in a foreign language, so I've attached a sheet of illustrations to demonstrate what I've been saying. You won't be able to read this anyways, but oh well, this pencil doesn't have a god damn eraser.

I'm sure you've gotten this gist by now, but I'm bored, and everybody else is asleep at my feet, so I'm going to keep writing.

At least, I think they're asleep. Yes, I just poked one and she growled, they are definitely alive and sleeping.