Angels

A Story by Kya

This is the depiction of the second suggestion I received. The suggestion was similar to "no food in the fridge and no internet connection".

No no no. This can't be the last of it. That's impossible.

Gerald grasped the small can of expired tuna with a shaking hand. He was so panicked that his knuckles began to turn white as his grip became a vice, slowly crushing the can. Thoughts raced through his head, each one taking a turn at his attention for a mere moment before being replaced by another. Food, water, hungry, lonely, desperate, food, water, communication, others. He dropped the can, staggering backwards and falling to the floor.

Sobs began to choke him as he sat, arms wrapped around his knees, rocking back and forth as he stared at the barren cabinet. He buried his face into his lap, letting the tears soak into his filthy clothes. The dirt on his jeans smudged onto his forehead and cheeks, and the smell of urine and blood from his shirt made him gag. He shook himself and crawled over to his fridge. /Maybe there's something here, maybe I overlooked it. Yeah, there's probably something. Please be something./

He reached for the handle and placed his hand around it, taking a deep breath. He closed his eyes and opened the door, hoping for the best.

Nothing.

The racks and drawers of the fridge were bare. He chuckled to himself. Of course they were, he remembered taking the last portion of some hardened cheese that had fallen in between the cracks of the drawers. He had licked the sticky spots on the bottom where some juice had dripped down. He had consumed everything in his pantry, refrigerator, garden, garbage. Of course there was nothing left in the fridge.

Gerald stared at the gaping whiteness of the fridge for a few moments longer. Tears began to well up in his eyes yet again as his stomach let out a protesting groan. He knew the cramps would come soon, but he was used to them. They almost never left.

He composed himself for the fifth time today and left the kitchen. He went down the hallway to his bedroom and opened the door. The room was still there, one of the few things that would be sure to last another day, this room this room this room that kept him together, his sanctuary. He reached underneath his pillow on his bed and pulled out his old laptop. He barely used it in order to preserve the battery. He kept communication with his few remaining friends, and he knew that he needed to delete at least one more contact each day. It was one of the few tasks that kept him feeling as normal as possible. There was no way he was gonna let those infected one-minded monstrosities spam him with their messages to obey and join.

He opened up the laptop and pressed the power button. As he waited he prayed to the God he no longer believed in, prayed for redemption from His "angels." The desktop blurred into focus, displaying a background drawn by one of his comrades. The art depicted Gerald himself, blowing a hole through the head of one of those white winged b******s. The blood was spattered all over the Angel's white dress and blonde hair. Gerald had a wicked grin on his face, a look of victory in his eyes. He always loved Emir's work.

The chat screen automatically popped up, but displayed no names. Gerald waited a bit, because his laptop was indeed years old, and sometimes took a little bit. However, when a few minutes had passed, he checked to see if his connection was oka

Oh God.

Oh God no no no no please no

I can't do this please work I beg you I need to know if they're okay I'll do anything oh God please don't let them be infected they know where I live they'll come for me I don't want to hear their flapping wings please no no

"Good evening, friend."

Gerald looked up from cradling his head in his hands and examined the screen. Still no connection. There was a message all the same.

"We have waited for this day."

With nervous anticipation, he responded to the messenger with Emir's username.

"who is this? emir, if this is u, dont play pranks on me rite now"

"We are Emir. Emir is we. Soon Gerald will be we. We are not risen Angels."

Gerald sobbed and backed away from the computer. He watched as the Angel continued typing. Suddenly a new message popped up on the screen, a picture.

It was Emir, his short black hair now flowing past his waist, complementing his long, flowing white toga.

And, illuminated by the soft glow of his halo above his head, there were the beginning stages of shining white wings protruding from his back.

Gerald looked into Emir's eyes, now completely black. The picture blinked and spoke.

"We are fallen Demons."