If they could do that to the door, then what was stopping them from breaking in here?

The thought crossed my mind that perhaps they were waiting, waiting for me; perhaps they were toying with me, biding their time. Was it possible they were even then plotting against me, gnawing at the last vestiges of my sanity like they did everything else? I refused to give in to my paranoia; these creatures, they weren't...they couldn't be...intelligent. Impossible.

But that still didn't explain why they hadn't broken in; they are mindless beasts, driven by the urge to feed. I had plenty of food. Then the paranoia came back, like a sickening feeling slowly creeping into my stomach. How long had the creature been loose before it ventured back among its own? Had it gone immediately out? Or had it...I didn't want to think about the other possibility, but I forced myself to.

---

I don't even remember running to the storage room, but I found myself there, panting, out of breath, and despondent. It was gone. All...all of it was gone. The creature had eaten everything! It had taken everything! The rage that boiled within me, the desire to destroy, to hurt, to hunt the creature responsible and make it pay; to see it writhe, and scream, to bash it's miserable little...I apologize, sometimes, I forget where I am. I can't always differentiate between the past and the here, the now.

But the worry...the misery of that moment, when I had lost hope, still rests on my shoulder, worming its way into my brain every night.

Then I sat. And I waited. When the waiting grew boring, I screamed. When my throat grew too sore, when my vocal cords felt like they had snapped, I slammed my head against the metal racks of shelves. Not very scientific, I know; it wasn't the logical thing to do, but then again, nothing in my whole world was logical at that point. No, the reasoning would come later, but right then, then and there, was anger, was depression, was absence. First and foremost there, though, was fear; I remember the fear clearly.

Maybe that's why when the small case fell onto my lap and I gazed at it, blinking with wonder; I didn't question it. Perhaps it was a gift from god, a sign; I didn't care. It was a way out. The nightmare had begun for humanity four hundred years ago, but it was just beginning for me.

And I wasn't ready for it; I couldn't, I wouldn't deal with it. I had tried for so long to fix the world; I was humanity's last hope for the return of the world it had once inhabited and loved. And there I was, sitting on the floor in my own blood, looking at the case in my hand; I really wasn't much use to anyone, really. Not even myself. What could I do? My brain kept asking but my body knew the answer; without my consent, my fingers slid against the fine wood; how old was this case? It clicked open with a soft hiss, a decompression, and something inside glinted at me; I would've thought it evil, if it hadn't been my escape.

I was tired of decisions; Istill am, but now there's no escape. But then, then there had been a way out; a refuge, a safe place. Somewherethe monsters of humanity's folly and greed couldn't harm me, a haven where theguilt and the mind numbing fear would not hold sway.

The handle was cold, the entire thing was cold; that amused me as I slid the rounds into the revolver.Something that spit fire could be so cold, uncaring...I don't know, I suppose I just appreciate irony; that hasn't changed. I firmly believe that putting that icy barrel to my head was the most difficult thing I've ever had to do in my life.

Pulling the trigger was the easiest.

------

This marks the end of the original story. I have a full, novel-length, idea planned out, but I'll save that for if there's an increase in interest. What did you think of the world I set up? What did you think of Sonny? Would you like to see more? Let me know! Any and all feedback, comments, etc. is welcome, and appreciated. I'll be putting up the first part of a new story Wednesday, December 14th. See you soon!

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