End Of Days

To Whom It May Concern:
         I can’t honestly say I expect this to be read; I’ve seen what’s going on out there, and it scares me.  The world around me is falling to pieces and I don’t know what to do.  Does anyone?
         I never really considered myself a bad person, but now as I reflect... my parents deserved a far better son.  I was a liar, a cheater, moody, rude, and obnoxious.  On a good day.  I really have no clue how they put up with me… none whatsoever.  I was always so disrespectful to them both, but not just them: my sister, step-father, all of my teachers and anyone in authority.  They loved me anyway.  I really am scum, aren’t I?
         I suppose I should let you know what happened, whoever you may be, rather than explaining my life to you.  Here goes:
         I woke up to a scream at 2 in the morning.  My sister had just come home from work, and she had checked the news immediately.  There was a special bulletin about “fiends in masks and tattered clothes” roaming about rural Pennsylvania.  They said there were hundreds of them and they were killing anyone who crossed their path in a gruesome, brutal way.  It was vague and it was late.  We went back to the bed.  I mean, Pennsylvania is at least three hours from Hillsborough, right?  I guess they call that rationalizing… or nihilism…
         I woke up again at 5:47, this time to a loud crash.  My sister insisted upon going to check it out… we let her.  She came back and told us someone had broken into the house at the end of the block.  The new bulletin hadn’t stopped yet, or yielded any new information.  By 6:00, we had heard that the ghouls were overtaking the entire Eastern Seaboard.  We were informed that not only were these things killing people, but they were devouring their victims too.  Horrible, huh?  It gets worse…
         At about 6:15 we heard a scream next door.  My sister grabbed a bat and left to check it out.  She had always been the brave one… the stupid one…  She came back with blood on the bad and a hug, gaping wound on her left arm.  She was crying. It turns out she had been bitten, and as my step-father tended to her wound, she recounted the story.  She had killed Mr. Wilton.  He had tried to kill her.  As I held her through her tears, I had no idea that he had succeeded…
         We locked the door and closed the blinds.  I took one last look outside.  I saw my neighbors taking to the streets, both running in fear, and joining the ranks of the ghouls.  It was horrifying.  They owned everything from the lawns, to the homes, to the streets themselves.  Mankind had lost to itself, to animalism, to hunger.
         I ran back to the kitchen to see my sister lying on the floor and my mother huddled in the corner.  My step-father was weeping over my sister.  There as a knife protruding from her eye.  I looked to my mother once more and noticed a large bite in her back.  She dropped to the floor and so did my step-father.  I asked him what happened and he told me that my sister had made a lunge for mother while her back was turned, bit her in the shoulder, and as he tried to rip them apart, she went for his throat.  He did what he could to protect my mother, and so he had to kill my sister.
         I looked at her body and vomited…
         My step-father told me what they said on the news while I was cleaning up.  They said that anyone bitten was infected.  He speculated it was worse.  He figured that it was in the blood, and so, since he got some of my mother’s blood in him after she was bitten, he might be too.  He told me to run to the den and lock myself in.  I would be safe there, on the second story with a rifle.  He told me they both loved me very much, and that I was the best son they could have hoped for.  Everyone was crying.
         I left them there.  I really am scum.  I went upstairs and locked the door behind me.  It is a big door made of oak so it should hold for a while.  They will be coming after me soon, and so might the ones outside.  I sat down and began to write.  I suppose I should apologize to you for the smudges on the paper… I couldn’t help myself from crying, could you?
         … I hear that when you shoot something close range with a high caliber gun, there is a bit of an explosion.  That always interested me and I figured one day I would test it out.  We have a pretty strong hunting rifle up here, but not nearly enough ammunition to keep me alive for a long time.  I really am a coward.  I left my parents to die.  I couldn’t save my sister or my neighbors.  With any luck, you, dear reader, won’t even have to see my dead body… my parents will have taken care of that by the time you get here…
         Congratulations, though, reader.  You made it much farther than I ever could have.  I commend you for the bravery that so many of us lack, but I suppose it is about time that I test out that rumor about guns…

Signed,
Joseph Sterphone