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My Last Apocalypse

I can't explain why or how this cycle repeats for me. Yet, what I do understand is each time I die, I return to the starting point, a zombie apocalypse, and continue my journey anew. In my first apocalypse, I overlooked the creeping signs of doom until overrun by zombies in my flat, where I perished in sheer terror. The second attempt to alert others of the impending chaos fell on deaf ears; labelled a lunatic, I fled the city, only to succumb to starvation and exposure alone in the wild. By the third go, I sought safety in wealth, collecting vast supplies, yet fell victim to a brutal gang. Now, understanding the key—precise foresight, survival skills, strict secrecy, and solitude—I see the purpose in reliving this collapse. This time, failure is not an option. This time, I will survive and outlive the apocalypse.

TK_Selwyn · Fantasía
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155 Chs

Harsh pragmatism

As I navigate the eerily silent streets, the remnants of my previous life's memories cling to me like shadows at dusk. They weave into my current reality, a tapestry of past and present pain, drawing stark parallels that I cannot ignore. The people who kidnapped others, turning survivors into slaves, represent the darkest facets of humanity—a cruelty so profound it echoes through my lifetimes.

In the quiet of my mind, I contemplate these captors, these purveyors of despair. Their kind has always existed, morphing through history's many chapters, yet always driven by the same vile impulses. They prey on the vulnerable, exploit the weak, and strip away the very essence of humanity for their gain or twisted satisfaction. In my past life, I witnessed their ruthlessness firsthand, their pleasure in domination, and their cold indifference to suffering.

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