An Unwanted Survivor.

I trudged on, leaving infinite footsteps behind, no one to follow them and find out where I was headed to. It had been almost a month ever since the werewolf apocalypse occurred. Everyone I knew was dead, my family, my neighbors, my friends. Not a single human in sight and if there were survivors, they were far away from my reach. I’ve become accustomed to the sight of rubbles, dead bodies of people, a head here, a leg there, the intermittent sky, grey and blue, the unexpected storms. My stomach growls in misery, I had not eaten in two days. The only good thing is Ken, my pet German shepherd, was fortunate enough to survive. He keeps me company, and warns me when trouble is ahead. The forest is my hiding place and where I get most of my meals. But today, not a single prey is in sight, and I’ve been looking for almost an hour. It was becoming dark and I decided to give up or else I would become the dinner of a pack of hungry werewolves.

‘Come on, there’s nothing here,’ I tell to particularly no one. I start walking northwards to the cottage which was my hiding spot. It was annihilated, but still good enough. As I reach the cottage, Ken races ahead of me and starts barking wildly, which means there’s trouble. This was unusual because our hiding place was quite difficult to find and it was deep into the forest, a place where the werewolves never bother to raid on account of how isolated this place seems. I immediately get hold of my only weapon, a rifle, from my game bag. I knew I was going to die, if not today then soon. But I wasn’t scared; I didn’t have anyone left, anyone to care for, except maybe Ken. I hear soft footsteps, obviously not a human, approaching. I swiftly turn around and there standing before me is a muscular jet black werewolf, standing on all fours, it’s yellow slitted eyes staring into my own green eyes. It bared it's dagger like teeth at me and it's growl sounded like a loud motorcycle engine. I backed away slowly, hoping it wouldn't come after me. Ken runs away behind the cottage, but it’s yellow eyes are entirely on me. I keep the rifle ready, and sure enough, the beast springs up on me, knocking the rifle aside, imprisoning me with its sinewy arms which felt like it was made of steel. Its teeth, dripped with saliva while it grinned menacingly. Its eyes were cold with no thought, skin diseased and ragged with fur. I knew this was it. This is the end. But then I remember this is the beast that took away my family, all of them who deserved a life and me, undeserving and selfish survived. This thought of my family dying innocently, provokes me to fight. I try to free my hands from its grip, and when I fail, Ken comes out and climbs on the wolf’s back, and it springs up, sending Ken flying. He hits a nearby tree and slides down, unconscious.  I have no time to lament. I instantaneously grab the rifle and pull the trigger. But the beast ducks and misses it by a narrow two inches. I run as fast as I can and climb a nearby redwood tree. It claws at me, tearing the flesh near my ankles. I wince, but keep climbing. But I am a bad climber. For a moment I lose grip and I slip, but I keep on climbing, my heart beating out of my chest, rattling my rib cage. I don’t look downwards. I position myself on a branch, ignoring the fact that it might snap any moment and bring me to the hungry beast. I can’t climb higher because I might fall. I decide to stay on the branch for as long as I can, thinking it might get bored and give up. But I was wrong. The longer the time got, the more provoked and vigorous it got. The beast kicked and clawed the tree, causing it to shake with such force that I feared I might fall down at any moment. It felt like the tree was being electrified. I knew I was breathing my last few breaths. I wish I died with my family, instead of dying like this. One whole month of struggle went all for this.

I look at my rifle poised on my back. Only one bullet left. Now or never.  Balanced on the thin branch, I take the rifle and position it to the beast’s chest. If I fail, I die. I did not want to die in the beast’s hand, no. I want to die a hero, sure no one will see this or remember me, but I want to kill the beast who took away my family. I may not kill all of them and survive, but I can kill one and live. I pull the trigger and send the bullet flying to beast’s chest, right to where its heart is located. For a moment, it stands still, its horrifying eyes staring into nothingness. And finally, it lets go and lands with a loud thud on the ground, body sprawled. I get back down, and stare at the great black beast, lying still. Mission accomplished. I smile at my accomplishment. It had been a long time since I’ve smiled. But then I remember Ken. I look at him lying unconscious, feeling pangs of guilt, anger and sorrow. He was my only companion. I decide to leave my hiding spot and find a new one. This cottage will always bring back the horrible traumatizing experience and it will also remind me of Ken.

And so I trudge on again, to the vast unknown world. Whether I live today or die tomorrow, it did not matter. I brought down a werewolf, one werewolf equals to the death of one individual, and whoever was killed by that particular werewolf, might be smiling at me right now, and that was all that mattered.