Short Story Archive

Run. Fight. Survive.

Run. Fight. Survive.

Time is running out.

Run. Fight. Survive.

With my pounding heart and heaving lungs, I know I need to stop. I can't exactly rest in the middle of a battle field, though. Especially not with an army of ghouls nipping at my heels. I feel their icy breath down my shin, and I cringed at the whispered screams they unleash in my ears. The world is dying, and the dead are deciding it is their time to reign.

I don't think the living will appreciate that much.

"You don't have to run!" a voice shrieks at me from the mist. "Just give in!"

Never mind, I know of exactly one living psychopath who would like that very much.

Though I can't tell if she's even still counted as living with the insanity in her head.

"Just lay down, let them show you the truth! Running is futile! The dead do not tire, the dead do not rest! You will have to eventually!"

I will not let darkness overwhelm me, no matter the cost. Her amber gaze pierces my skull, watching me sprint, seeing me lurch instinctively toward the light. I know he is be with her, lurking in the darkest of shadows, staring at her. The leader of this army, the king of the dead.

The father of her unborn child.

The puppet-master who turned me into a fool.

Run. Fight. Survive.

I grit my teeth, remembering that night of passion. That night that meant nothing, not a damn thing to her. Everything she did, she did for that master of night. He manipulates the weak-minded, showing her a path that she can never return from. Depression causes desperation, and he struck her the deal. She could live happily, with the power to destroy those who have crossed her. The only condition he presented?

She must be the mother of the dead.

I am the last one running, bleeding as I ignore my legs screaming at me. I should be limping, I should be dead. I won't stop, though. Not if it means letting her win. After everything she put me through, I would never let her win. Dying means letting her win. I let my hatred blind me, engulfing me into a rage that I have kept bottled up as I attempted to right my wrongs. Telling her our weaknesses. Letting her see what she can do to a man. Allowing her to walk away when the government told me to kill her. The night she betrayed us.

I loved her.

Run. Fight. Survive.

I thought she loved me.

Run. Fight. Survive.

She betrayed me.

Run.

She betrayed me.

Fight.

She betrayed me.

Survive.

The thought keeps me alive. It burns my nerves to think it, to remember it, but I know it's the only thing that will keep me breathing. So I let it run through me, warming my body, causing my heart to beat faster and keep my blood flowing. The gash in my leg bleeds quicker, but if it means I find a medic faster, so be it. I repeat the mantra again and again. I hear the commander's voice howling the words to the citizens who ran.

Run. Fight. Survive.

I think of those we have already lost, the ones who fell first. My father amongst them, and me persuading my mother to leave his side. You don't stop. You can't stop. I told her this, and she had no choice but to listen. He kissed her gently one last time, mouthing "go" to us. His eyes haunt me to this day. I remember her tear-streaked face as we got the chance to rest in safety as she remembered the ghosts falling upon his body in a greed, in a hunger. That night, when she had finally settled down and I allowed the grief to overwhelm me, a sorrow I had to keep hidden for her sake, so she could be weak for once.

This was that mistress of death's fault.

My entire life fell apart the night I met her.

Run. Fight. Survive.

Now is the time to run, not to fight. Running will allow survival, fighting will cause certain death. I have to remind myself that I cannot fight the dead. I have no weapons, nothing specially made. We should have prepared further. The dead have been lurking at our door for a decade now, crying, wailing, moaning that we were the cause of their utter despair. That we have destroyed everything they loved, how we are responsible for their eternal suffering. They called at us for help, until they found a creature who was willing to show them the path to vengeance. Our leaders had been warned, pleaded with, threatened that these creatures would be our downfall long before the masked monster took the dead under his wing.

Our weapons became more advanced.

We did not have enough time to mass produce.

Run. Fight Survive.

Very few of us can fight. We do not have enough manpower. Our new swords and guns are unbelievable, able to tear through the very fabric of the soul. We began to create them too late in this bloodbath, though, and so our armies can be no more than ten thousand. How can ten thousand protect ten billion? We watch the numbers decrease by the hour- our militia and our population falls even as I sprint. We have plummeted into an era of night, after a century of pure light. That is why they wanted her. They wanted to evolve their children to survive the day and night.

Run. Fight. Survive.

Their master fears we shall bring the light back, and so his children must be prepared. She gives him such a look, one that proclaims all the love she has ever felt. A look she gave me for a week. Then my world went to Hell. She giggled as my little brother succumbed to these monsters, and I saw a grin as my father fell. She knows we stop for no man, because if one of us stop, we all stop. I still hate myself for that night. I should have done more. It should have been me. No.

It should have been her.

She is the one to blame.

Run. Fight. Survive.

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Wow alright hope you guys enjoyed that! I am going to keep on this schedule to upload some short story every Thursday! Warning- characters in these short stories DO NOT CARRY ON. You will notice I do not give them names- they are just barely there. Honestly this is all meant to help me improve, and I hope you will enjoy the stories!