The Plague
By Ryan Long
My eyes snapped open, and, as usual, my first thoughts were to defend myself against the attackers that were all around me. But, as usual, the room was empty, and I was sitting on my bed, holding my 7 inch combat knife, ready to attack. I don't know which I found more amusing: That I had sliced a gash in my pillow, or that I had sat, poised to fight to attack, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and some dirty socks. I looked out the window and saw the sun was already a good distance into the sky. I looked down at my watch. Normally, I'd already be ready by now, since I had the alarm set. But know, the analog display was blank. "Batteries must be dead." I muttered to myself. I got dressed, grabbed and sheathed my knife, and headed downstairs. As I was preparing a bowl of cereal, I opened a drawer to grab some batteries for the watch, only to find it was empty, except for some batteries of the incorrect type. "It's always the little shit that bites you in the rear, isn't it?" I asked myself. "You know, if you keep on doing that, people will think you're crazy." I said to myself in my head. "What people? Besides, the only reason we're probably still sane is the fact that I have these conversations with myself." I said out loud. I grabbed the bowl, filled it with some corn flakes, and poured some water in the bowl. "Sucks all the milk is bad." I thought. The corn flakes were fine, all the same. I did a quick look around the house, and took a mental note of what I needed to grab, and would be nice to find, on today's run. I walked to back upstairs, and started to check my gear. a backpack, a water bottle, a bag of trail mix, a flashlight, my knife, a lighter, a crowbar, and a Berreta M9, with 3 clips. Everything was in order. I suited up, ran downstairs, and removed the several layers of barricades at the door. This consisted of several layers of sheet metals, chains, and several bolts on the actual door. A bird flew past the door, getting within a few feet of my face causing me to jump back, draw my knife, ready to kill. "19 years old and your already paranoid as hell." I chuckled. I shut the door behind me, stepped off the porch, and into the warm daylight.