Chapter one: hours of loneliness.
Don't you hate it when you have nothing to do except watch people have something to do and feel bad for yourself? Yep, that's pretty much my life. Well was my life 2 hours ago. You might be thinking that I found something to do. Nope, wrong, incorrect whatever.
Now the only thing that has changed is that there is no one left for me to watch.
Two hours ago I was sitting on a bench in the city bus on my way home from the library. Suddenly my phone buzzed, oddly this is exactly what it said "everyone is gone" from TBY. Don't know who that is. It took me a second but I finally realized what it meant by everyone's gone. I looked around on the bus, no one was there as usual. I carefully walked to the front of the bus. The bus driver always made the ride bumpy but was never this bad at driving. I slowly tried to wobble to the front.
When I got there, there was no driver. Now that was not the same. When I got out of the bus at my stop I saw that there were no houses. Which kind of makes sense right, because if you have no people there does not need to have homes when there is no one to live in them. The idea raced in my mind that for one my family was gone and for two that my home was gone.
I ran as fast as I could to get home. All the other homes -or where there used to be homes- are now just valleys of grass, not even roads between them. Then I saw it. I let out a relieved sigh. I opened the door and walked into my home. It was the same but also different at the same time. No one was home. Not only was I home alone but also no one was even alive except for me.
"Who's there?" it startled me to hear someone talk because I thought everyone was gone.
"Hello?" the person asked. It was not low but not a high voice, the voice sounded like a boy 14 or 15. I kept walking, I heard a chair go back and someone stood up and started walking towards me. I held my breath, in front of me was a boy. He was at least 14. He had porcelain skin and jet black hair and light blue eyes.
"Who are you?" he said.
"What are you doing here?" another question was thrown at me by the boy.
"What are you doing in my house?" the question I asked threw him off a bit probably because of my sassiness.
"Your house?" this time he asks almost in a whisper.
"I'm Vicky," I told the boy. He held out his hand while saying
"Adam." I shook his hand.