The date is December twenty-second, 8012; the anniversary of the end.

I remember the day of destruction all to clearly. There was fire, flame, and detonation round every bend. You couldn't escape the burning hell that was surrounding the world. People were caught in the red-and-orange lights. There was no water pure enough to cease the fire. There was no mercy, just flame. It purified and burned each of its victims with a sinister pleasure. All hope was lost.

However, where there is fire, there is ice. Soon after the flames engulfed the world in their firey damnation, the ice froze over the ashes, chilling any soul still on their deathbed into a mental coma of insanity. The screams were even more prominent than in the heat. The cold numbed its victims and sent them into hallucinogenic scenarios of happiness soon afterward. At least the temporary survivors would die in an illusion of serenity….

After the flame and frost, an unexpected turn of events occurred. Fourty-one people from across the globe's hearts were still beating. They were still breathing. Perhaps not functioning properly, but alive nonetheless. All fourty-one were dying, however; and quickly at that.

Some being somewhere saved us. They restored us to a state of being similar to living. Not one of us are sure of the events that took place that night, as we all were sent into states of madness from the horrific sights and sounds surrounding us. All we remember is what they told us when we woke up… all except for me.

There is a wide variety of us. We come in all ages and sizes. We have been on this planet for a long time now. Through it all, I wish I had died in the horror of it all. Immortality is not such a gift as it was always dreamt of. I remember when I was young and still alive and would fantasize about becoming a vampire. But I'm told blood is not as fulfilling as it would seem.

You see, when they "recovered" us, our bodies were so disturbed and torn apart that our deaths were inevitable. If our hearts would not give out, we would be driven into mental insanity. The concepts of what we have been turned into are quite complex. Basically, they would determine if our souls were made of fire or ice, as the Recoverer would do on the dead in order to pass them on to the next life. Neither a soul of flame or frost is good or bad in a sense, but rather a reflection of how the person is portrayed. The Recoverer would choose the type, as fire cannot exist without ice and vice versa, and would then create the change.

The ones with a soul of fire would be turned to an immortal being of wit and cunning. They could easily trick one of ice to them in order for a drink of their water. As humorous as it may seem, our immortality was affected by our change. Our bodies of fire would burn on and on, and like a very large candle and a wick, they would melt away to nothing. Our flaming hearts need the cool, crisp water of a soul of ice to blow out the flame frequently so that we do not waste away to nothing.

The ones with a soul of ice were changed to an immortal body of shadow and stealth. These types can stalk prey of flame with ease and catch them to breathe their plasma. Ones of ice must inhale in the breath of their victim to intake the precious immortality. As an elder man, the heart of an ice soul will freeze into paralyzation until death comes soon after. The souls of ice need the plasma to keep their hearts warm and beating.

I have only witnessed three deaths in my time, although many more have occurred. Our brand of immortals cannot reproduce, thus we dwindle down from the original fourty-one slowly and steadily. If either breed, fire or ice, does not feed within their life's time constraint, their helpless body will sent a warning, telling them of the five minutes they have before their systems will shut down forever. The only thing that can save the dying victim is the blood from the other species.

While it may seem a small task, in the process of dying, we loose our precious blood. Our blood is what keeps us alive and is more crucial to keep than the water or plasma we are forced to consume. Many of us have committed suicide from the struggles of our immortal world. It is very hard to make us bleed, but can be done at extreme costs. However, if one wants to be saved, another made of the opposite element must sacrifice half of their blood supply to the other, but there is a very low chance that only half will bleed out. It is not simple to make an incision in our skin, much less control the flow of the crimson liquid contained inside us. Keeping it inside of us is our top priority, as we are only given what was left in our bodies when we officially died, and most of us were injured and wounded already.

My name is Gerard, an immortal with a soul of flame. I keep to myself, as it is better that way. Many times I have tried to end this horrid form of a life I am forced to live; each trial an error. Even as a human, alive and breathing real air and pumping fresh blood, I was a threat to myself and all others that came near me. It was of pure coincidence I survived the disastrous doom on the day life as I knew it came to an end. I was never liked, loved, or even acknowledged.

I spent day after day in this immortal world of hell in a castle that shattered to one million pieces. The ruins comfort me, as I feel they reflect myself and my state of being. Around the piles of pure white marble, statues stand, polished and perfect. It was as if nothing had ever happened. I could see the detail of each eye and lip structure. Each figure was, in my opinion, wearing a look of agony. One was on their knees, looking up to the skies, asking for mercy that would not be granted. Another had their hands covering their face in a matter most beautiful and heart wrenching.

I counted each sculpture, collecting a total of eight. Slowly, I walked around to greet each one, as I did every day. I then sat in the middle of the circle they formed. The inside of the figures appeared to have a ballroom floor. It was elegant and marvelous, and reflected everything it shouldn't- opposed to the world that had crumbled around it.

I sat in the very center and held my knees close to my chest. I didn't want this life anymore. I wanted to be gone. I could feel the burning in my throat. It had been months since I had last fed and I could feel myself slowly melting away to nothingness.

"Warn your warmth to turn away," I sang shakily.

It had been years since I had sang. It was always my escape. Now, I could feel my warmth of flame shying away from my alive, yet dead body. It was pleasing to me, no matter the harsh burns escaping my every limb.

After a few moments of recollecting myself, I stood up and retreated to my makeshift home in the castle. Two small rooms had survived the damage, and I weaseled my way into them. The rooms were bare, except for a sketchbook that I was given as a gift from the Recoverer. I propped elbows on the corner of the empty window, much more like a hole in the wall and stared out into the sky.

Minutes had gone by and everything seemed as normal and terrible as always, until I saw something. It was gliding down from the sky. The unidentified object fluttered its way onto the windowsill. I observed it closely, and realized the pure magic of the item. It was a snowflake. Snow had only fallen once after the Doomsday. I laughed a psychotic and perhaps maniacal laugh. I was sure I was going insane once again, but I rushed out the door into the circle of figures once again and danced for hours as the snow built up high on the ground.

This type of water would not suffice my burning throat, but it was a thrill to experience. In all my years of solitude, I was never so happy before. All was going pleasant and freely. I was actually enjoying my form of life. However, just as there is flame to frost, there is bad to good.

A crisp crunch awakened me from my enjoyment. Someone was near. How had they found me? I wanted to be alone! I stood perfectly still, afraid to make any movements. This life was not as good as I had almost convinced myself to believe. This life is horror, tragedy, sorrow, and death. Here is not where you want to be. I would wish my soul to rest peacefully and in cold death underground. Here is a cold, dark world. This is not a life, this is a hell. Here it is an icy world of broken dreams. Here you can not win, only loose and be eaten alive.

Here it's December, every day.