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
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.