He covered her face with the bedsheet, shuddering with the pain of what he knew would be his last

time touching her. He broke down into a strong, sorrowful sob, letting everything go completely. His

wife was gone. His little girl lay still on the bed. His world was dead now. His life had lost meaning.

He had no reason to move from that spot on the floor.

Days passed without movement, and the sounds of the dead lessened, if only a little. The man waited

for a death that would not come, crafting a world that would need him again. His body aged slowly, and

stored energy for the time when it might be in movement once more. His mind began to slip, blending

tales of devils and witches, soldiers and superheroes, dark chasms and inhuman cities. Creating

something more.

When the man finally rose up, he was something altogether different from what had lain on the floor,

broken. His eyes told a story of loss, but determination. He couldn’t even see the dead, as he stepped

outside. Mad visions were calling to him. He removed the dangers surrounding him, and ventured out

into the cold, dead world.