Ghost Town || Hetalia

Chapter One (Alfred)

A young man was curled up on his bed - or, the best excuse he had for a bed. He barely slept, and the little hours he had were restless. He was paranoid, and shaking, too scared to close his eyes for very long at all.

A sickness had spread across the Earth, wiping out most people in horrific ways. Those who were not quickly killed by the sickness, went insane, and died later on. The governments of countries quickly fell, and the last few living people were taken to a paradise, where they would be safe - Or at least, that is what he had been told. Only important people were saved. It was not fair.

He decided it had been a miracle none of the crazy or sick people found him in the tiny bunker he hid in, and was still hiding it. He has been counting the days, and it had been a whole three months. Almost everyone on the Earth - or at least in The United States - should have been dead by now. If not, the amount of people alive must be very few.

His supplies were running out. He had to ration his food, and he was constantly hungry. His mouth was always dry and he was thirsty because he had to be careful with the amount of water he drank.

He knew he could not go much longer before he would eventually have to leave the safety of his bunker, and search for supplies. He was scared, and kept pushing it back, telling himself he could go longer. But he knew he had to get out soon, or he would starve or become dehydrated. Or both.

I'm only 19, he thought, why did this have to happen?

The young man - although he still considered himself to be a kid, merely and older teenager - stood up as he got off his bed. He walked over to his desk, grabbing the one of the small, hand-held radios that he had.

"Is anyone there?" He said after flicking the radio on. He waited for a response, wishing there was another voice to answer him, but all he received in return was static. He switched between channels and tried different settings, but still got absolutely nothing in result.

This was a daily thing, to try to contact any other living person using the radio. Usually, he attempt it multiple times a day, but he made sure to never skip it. Sometimes, he swore he heard someone through the static, bot being able to recognize any words or whether the voice was even male or female. For all he knew, all he heard in those moments was an old station, with a recording or a song playing. Or, it was simply his imagination, his foolish hope making him hear things that were not there.

Once, he had even dreamt that someone answered, though he could hardly remember the dream and could not clearly bring the details to mind.

He also had another dream, where he had adventures outside, and been slaughtered by a crazy person. Though, the dream was illogical, he was sure most of the infected people - and the human race as a whole - were dead.

The male sighed and switched the radio off and gently set the device down on the desk, shaking his head to clear his mind. He used to leave the radios on, but static bothered him. He did not know why, but it made him paranoid and anxious, somehow even more so than usual.

He walked over to the calendar, and starred at the days he had been checking off. He had a small bit of electricity from the solar panels outside, that powered a small clock in the corner, and a lamp, as well as a microwave. He only kept the clock and lamp plugged in, while he did not with the microwave sense he rarely ever used it.

He felt in-dept and thankful to his parents, for spending the money to build the bunker. In case anything ever happens, they had said. At the time, he thought they were silly and just wasting their money, but now he certainly thought otherwise. What he saw as pointless then, was now saving him, and had kept him alive within the last few months. Without the bunker, there was hardly any chance he could have survived.

Thoughts of his parents made him think about his life before everything went to shît. He had so many friends, and he had not been the nicest person. He was selfish and ambitious, always seeing himself as a savior or a hero in every situation. Now, he realized that most of time, he had just been making matters worse with his narcissistic attitude. At least, his selfishness and determination might come in handy now. He had to stay alive, even if it meant favoring himself over others.

As if I'll ever find another living person, he thought.

Eventually, he dismissed his thoughts and cleared his mind. He went back to his bed and sat down, thinking and planning on the subjects that really mattered.He was running out of food and water, and only had enough himself a short while, if he nearly starved and dehydrated himself. That would make him weak and vulnerable.

"Tomorrow," he murmured to himself.

Alfred laid down to rest, while he could.

He would finally go out...tomorrow.

He just hoped it would go smoothly.