Chapter 1

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Hey. I am so happy that all of you have continued to read this book! The parts that are in italics are parts of a flashback!

Hope you like it!

The beautiful trailer was made by VisualGraphics and it is amazing!

The beautiful trailer was made by VisualGraphics and it is amazing!

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1 month earlier

The static echoing from the radio is deafening. I turn the dial, in attempts to hear something, anything, about the world outside. The world I hadn't been in, for three years. The world no one had been in for three years.

My hands shake as I turn it. I feel the clicks and clacks of the dial, under my soft fingertips. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Like a repeated symphony, the static and the dial, harmoniously they make music together. Music that deafens me, and fills the silence encasing me. I continue to spin the dial. It makes a soft whirring sound, barely audible over the annoying static.

Click. Clack. The click's and clack's are all I had heard for those 3 years. It is hard to hear the melodious voices of your family and friends when you have none. It is hard to listen to the television when the only thing it plays are reruns of old shows, over and over. Click. Clack.

Maybe I have gone insane. All I can bear to hear are the rhythmic sound of the static and dial, in tune. Click. Clack. Yup, I suppose that makes me insane. That and the fact that I haven't talked to another human since the start of The Isolation Phase.

I stand up from the radio and stare at its large oak frame. It belongs to my mother. Or rather, it belonged to her. The radio was the only thing I could recover from the ruins that I used to call a home. I couldn't recover her or my father, all I could recover was that stupid radio that somehow survived the 'accident'.

The attic, where I sit on the old wooden floor, is full of cobwebs. Funny. Spiders have been my only companions these past few years.

Sometimes I wish I could have died with them, in that terrible fire. With my poor mother and father. Click. Clack. That day is forever burned into my memory. I remember those wretched flames rise up, surrounding me. I remember my mother's blood curdling screams, shouting for me to run. And so I ran. I regret it everyday. I am a coward. I ran from the danger. I ran from the flames that burned down my house and murdered my mother.

I am an insane coward. I deserve to succumb to the spiders.

The attic is empty, except for me and the handheld radio. Oh, and the spiders; Bessy, John, and Milo.

The rough hard wood floor is old, and I fear that if I make a single misstep, I will fall through the floor. So I gently pick up my mother's radio and tip toe over to the entrance way to the staircase that leads to the ground floor.

I tuck the wooden radio under my arm and scurry down the stairs, careful not to make a noise. Of course, there is no reason for my journey to be embarked in silence, but after years of only hearing my own breath, and that of the radio, I couldn't tolerate more noise.

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