This is How the World Ends

Chapter II: Has The World Ended?

Two hours after the macabre announcement ...

The room was cold; it wasn't hot and stifling like it was in the afternoon. A quilt, of which was sewn together with brown and black thread, lay against my shivering body as I stared into the dark void that was the open closet. That closet scared me greatly. It reminded me of a closet where someone had died in in a horror movie.
I continued to stare at in, wondering what kind of monsters lay hidden within the shadows.
This wasn't my house. This was my grandfather's house. I was unfamiliar with my surroundings. I was unfamiliar with my location. If something bad were to happen, I would have no clue where to go—and that scared me.
I looked over towards the brown, wooden clock on the left nightstand—or should I say the only nightstand in the room. The nightstand was, similar to the clock, wooden. Only one drawer sat in the middle of the circular nightstand. It was polished and clean. Not a stain in sight, or at least to the human eye. It was well dusted.
The clock ticked loudly. It was 1:19 a.m. Of course, I was awake. I couldn't sleep. I looked up towards the white, banal ceiling, where two lights of the same proportion had rested. The moonlight shone through the small window. There were no curtains. That made it hard to sleep, but at this moment, I didn't care. I thought the moonlight beautiful. When I looked at the moon, I could see the craters holed in it. I covered myself up with the quilt, the only blanket I had to keep warm. It was the end of June. I wonder why it is so cold. It had to at least be sixty degrees, and to me, that was cold.
I suddenly heard rustling from behind me, where my mother had slept on her own cot on the right side of the room. Why was she still awake so late? Did I happen to awaken her? I heard footsteps. Not loud, heavy ones, but rather ones of a person who stepped lightly and had small feet. I hid under the blanket. The small blanket proved to be the only barrier between me and this mystery person. Whomever it is, it couldn't be my mother, because I saw her sound asleep through the small hole in the blanket.
I heard a faint growl. It wasn't a dog, no, or a wolf. It sounded more.. human. But that couldn't be. Why would another human, that wasn't sleeping already, be in the house? And, if so, why would they be in this room out all of the others? How did they get in?
I've always been a worried person, and I like to say I got that trait from my grandfather. So, similar to him, I always brought a sort of 'weapon' with me on trips like these: scissors. They were white and green, and weren't sharp at all. But they were something, and they could at least help me to defend myself from an intruder—if that was the case. I slipped my hand ever so quietly under the pastel pink pillow that my head laid upon, where my scissors were hidden away. I pulled them out from their hiding spot, where my leather diary was also hidden. I felt the leather brush against my sweaty palms as I dragged the scissors out. The sound didn't seem to draw the so-called intruder towards my direction. The intruder seemed to hover near the front of my mother's bed. But my mother didn't seem to notice, so maybe this my all my imagination. If it was, I'd have a fun story to tell in the morning.. or maybe, not. My family already seems to think I'm crazy as it is. I don't need another tale to make them fully believe.
Another growl echoed within the small room. This couldn't be my imagination. It was real.
My bones ached and shivered at the thought of an intruder in the house. I held my scissors tight in my hand, at times feeling their slight poke against a finger. But that could bother me less. What was on my mind was this intruder. But after a few minutes, I didn't hear anything. I wanted to know who this man was, and if he meant any harm towards my family, I'd stab him in the heart with my scissors. Or, more likely, in his leg, because my scissors can't puncture that hard.
I decide to take a quick peak, slowly pulling away the blanket so that I could get a good look at this intruder. It took me awhile to get adjusted to the dimly lit room. My eyes darted left and right, but there was no sign of any life in the room besides me and my mother. I looked towards the ground, and saw a large pool of crimson blood trickling down from the bed.
No.
No.
No.
That wasn't blood. But what else could it be? I threw the quilt off my cold, shivering body, revealing what I thought wasn't true. My mother's lifeless corpse laid in a pool of her own blood on her bed. Her left leg had been turn off, or, more precisely, ripped off. Her eyeballs gouged from their sockets. A man, with greasy and uncombed red hair, sat in a crouched position, slowly eating away at my mother's leg, of which rested in the man's dirty hands. My stomached turned. My throat burned. I gasped for water, for something to make me feel alive. All that I felt was that I was stuck in a dream, with my dead mother laying in the bed beside mine. The man suddenly turned his head towards me. He wasn't wearing a shirt. He was only wearing dirty brown jeans that fell at his upper calves. He dropped the mutilated leg, and slowly sat up. A loud thud hit the floor. His skin was of a green color. His face was off-white. His eyes were white, but his pupils grey and lifeless. He looked like a person that had no remorse for his crimes. Was he even alive?
He growled, showing his teeth. Unlike the rest of his body, his teeth were straight and white, no sign of the act he had just committed: murder and cannibalism. He stood there for a moment, staring at me, his long, bony fingers moving in a soft motion. I sat on the bed, my left leg dangling off while my right leg lay in a curved position on the bed. My heart beat loudly against my chest.
Was this how the world would end?

A/N: I'm sorry if this chapter was kinda... well, dark. I know this isn't my usual stuff, but I wanted to try something different! Sorry if you are used to my lighthearted chicken stuff lol. I still do that! This book will just be an exception.