Just before the world around me was stripped of light, I remember it being filled with the crying of mothers, the panicked breaths of fathers, and the screams of children. Now, everything is silent. The world where I could run through luscious fields of green grass and look up at the clear, cerulean sky no longer exists. I begin to wonder if I ever woke up; the space around me, still dark. I rub my eyes, hoping that when re-opened, this vile panorama in front of me would cease to exist and the beautiful world I used to know, would return. Nothing has changed. The buildings around me, now black piles of ash. The once crisp, clean atmosphere, now consists purely of smoke.
The only sound I can hear under the crackling of fire is my bones creaking as I struggle to stand. My muscles feel as if they have been stretched to their limit. I want to vocalize my physical agony, but I feel as if there is nobody left to hear me. Am I the only survivor? Where’s Eric? I have to find him.
I slowly walk forward, holding my arms out in front of me while squinting my eyes; the only light to see, coming from a colossal inferno a few miles away. Although advancing seems dangerous, there is nowhere else to go.
The ground underneath me crunches with each step I take. A few minutes later, I begin to see outlines of buildings that seem to have survived the extensive destruction. The air no longer smells of smoke, but a putrid odor that replicates that of a crematorium. I pull the neck of my shirt over my nose to keep me from vomiting. I come upon a narrow brick road that is caked with the dust of those who used to populate the town around it. I scan this newfound area for any signs of life, but all I find is the exact opposite. Bodies upon bodies line the sides of the street. The weight of the decrepit flesh restricts the rivers of blood to flood the streets rather than escape through the sewer drains. I take my first step into the biohazardous wasteland, exposing the cuts on my bare feet to a pool of disease; I’m bound to die sooner or later. The small amount of sanity I struggle to possess is solely fueled by my need to find my best friend. It is for this reason only that I continue on this enigmatic journey. 
Never believing that I’d ever be in a situation this critical, I failed to take the time to input useful survival knowledge into my brain. My stomach takes initiative by growling, reminding me that humans have to consume food to exist. Limping my way across this foreign land, I begin my quest for a source of nutrition. What felt like hours later, I had finally located a small, scorched structure that seemed somewhat stable. As I grasp the metal doorknob, my fingerprints disintegrate along with my common sense; the delicate hardware blistering hot. Massaging my afflicted appendages, I maneuver myself to the back of the building in search of another entrance. In an effort to avoid another malady, I divert myself from the backdoor and choose to slip in through the adjacent window. I examine the encompassing field for large rocks that will shatter the encased glass. I find a decent sized piece of hard earth and lob it through the fenestration, creating a secure passageway inside.
I stumble through, slicing my calf open on a stray piece of broken glass. Once my entire body is inside, I take a moment to absorb my surroundings. Rows of shelves occupy most of the space while the rest is set aside for the sales register. I walk through each aisle with a steady stream of blood trickling down my leg and begin to ransack the abandoned shack for supplies.
I find one of those cloth totes that are supposed to help balance the over-usage of plastic bags and fill it with anything I can find: bandages, canned food, water, batteries. I unwrap a package of gauze and unroll a barrel of tape and wrap a makeshift tourniquet around my leg. I find some aspirin, pop two, and put the bottle in my bag. I take out a water bottle and drink, the water, creating a cool sensation as it travels down my burning throat.
Gunshots. The deafening sound rebounding off the fragile walls of the shack. I fall to the ground and swiftly army crawl my way underneath the sales counter. I slowly move my head in hopes of catching a glimpse of what is outside without it noticing me first. A hooded figure carrying a rifle glides past the window. Holding my breath, I say a prayer in my head and hope to God, if he still exists, that whatever is outside will stay that way. Before I am able to blink again, I hear the loud thud of a door being kicked off of its hinges and slamming to the ground. The unknown being saunters into the room, searching for any signs of movement. I hold my hand over my mouth, tears rolling down my face.
Step by step, it draws nearer. Out of the corner of my eye, I see it. A man about 6’2’’ wearing all black, drops his gun. I turn my head to look at him. He drops to his knees and utters my name. Riley? Paralyzed by fear, I try to nod my head, but I do not move. The man, crying, takes off his hood, revealing his face. Underneath the dark mask was the porcelain face of my, thought to be dead, best friend, Eric.