Disclaimer: I do not own anything but an imaginary puppy. (If it is imaginary, do I really own it? I own my mind, so I guess so.) I am rewriting this story slowly but surely. I will be updating it as well. I wrote this a good while ago, so I am trying again. Hope you guys like the chapter. Not too much will be changed.
Butch never liked mornings, and never appreciated them. Now he saw them in a completely different light. Each morning meant another day that he lived while 98.6 percent of the world's population didn't. A little over 76 million people are left, and though the number seems big, it pales in comparison to the 7.5e billion people that walked the Earth before.
He had chemical X to thank for that. The virus that decimated practically everyone he knew was widely known as the "Z Virus". It came quickly and spread like a wave. Only communities and civilizations that had limited contact with the rest of the modern world survived. Tribal and nomadic groups stayed intact, and the Americas was the first to fall. With its bustling cities and dense living areas, the World Superpower that was The United States of America was super no longer.
Butch remembered it clearly. People dropping like flies with no warning ten years ago. No symptoms, no turning into slow-moving reanimated corpses. Just the sudden loss of breath and the breaking down of one's body. The physical body was gone in under thirty minutes. Only a bit of yellow dust comprised bone was left until the wind carried it away. A grimly beautiful departure as there was no screaming in agony or pleas for a quick end. No blood and no flesh left, Butch decided it would have been a not-so-bad way to die. It wouldn't hurt like a sonic blast to the chest, it wouldn't hurt like being burned by Hell's heat as his diabolical "father/mother" HIM watched and laughed it twisted glee. It would not hurt like the time he died at the hands of Buttercup Utonium with her simple peck to his dirty cheek at six years old. Well, looking back at it now, that pain may have been worth it. Remembering his ridiculously huge crush on his enemy Butch decided. Yes, blowing up was so worth it.
Barely anyone was left it Townsville within a month after the virus started to spread. When the Professor realized the Chemical X's ability to prevent the virus, it was infused into a pill that Professor hastily made. It was taken by as many as possible around the world in order to protect ethnic, and cultural groups. It worked, and no group went extinct. Damaged but not completely decimated.
Shifting in his bed, Butch glanced over at the figure of his wife. Though a technically unofficial wedding as there were no marriage papers, Butch and Buttercup had a small, intimate wedding in the backyard of Buttercup's childhood home eight years ago. She rejected anything elaborate, and if she had her way completely they would have just exchanged rings and that would have been that. Unfortunately for her, Butch was somewhat of a hopeless romantic. He wanted the wedding album, the vanilla wedding cake with buttermilk frosting, and the bachelor party that consisted of him and his brothers playing videogames at the arcade they practically grew up in for twenty-four hours straight and drowning themselves in as much root beer, nachos, and other forms of junk food as they could find. An admittedly difficult feat as the production of such food items had practically come to a screeching halt after the events of the virus
His wife slept still as the sun rose higher into the sky. Butch was glad to have her in his life. Her and their three children. His brothers, sisters in law, and nieces and nephews were important too, but if Buttercup had somehow been taken by the virus, he would have lost his mind. He couldn't lose her before he truly had her.
Deciding to get up and start the fire in their gas stove, he made a simple breakfast of eggs and toast. Fresh from the chickens they kept in their backyard and the bread he had picked up from the Jonathans two houses down in one of the many the complexes within New Townsville. NT held one-third of what was left of the world's population and so these simple, efficient complexes are massively important to preserving the current standard of living. It was Townsville reborn. A central hub of technology and innovation. A true utopia and futuristic marvel. There were no factories, everything that was produced was handmade. Hence, the bread. Everyone had a role, and everyone was respected.
For such a technologically advanced hub, Butch could not fathom why his family still used a gas stove. Buttercup swore it just cooked meals better.
Her words from years ago echoed in his head, "Anything else just doesn't cook right, Butch. If you get rid of my stove, I swear I will burn your VR set. I will crush the ashes under my pretty little feet."
Butch felt small arms circle his arm that rested against the kitchen counter and another pair around his waist. The boys were up. Their grips were hard as they each tried to scale up their father in a playful race. Their giggling was music to Butch's ears. Soft pitter pattering sounded through the house as someone jumped down the stairs with a soft thump. The sound of socks sliding and shuffling away against the floor caught his attention as well. His little angel/ not so much an angel was up.
"No running! You know that!" Sleep laced and raspy, his wife's voice called out to their children as she descended the stairs. Hair a wild mess, and cut right at her shoulders, his old "Ace and the GG Gange band" shirt hung off her shoulders as a makeshift sleepy dress. Fluffy socks on her feet, she sluggishly trudged over to her husband to exchange "Good Mornings" and quick pecks before she found herself atop an island stool. She promptly laid her head onto the cool surface of the island as let her eyes fall shut.
Looking at his wife and children running around their home at supernatural speeds, Butch was grateful to see another daybreak.
