"The Virus" | Teen Ink

"The Virus"

May 12, 2011
By Anonymous

In your world they have guns, bombs, and missiles. They are significant. They can strike fear into hearts of people and bring back memories of war, greed, and triumph. Now guns and bombs are nothing more than child’s play. They are primitive, weak, and insignificant. Compared to the Virus, they are nothing. Nothing at all.


It all started during the 3rd World War… or maybe earlier. No one knows because almost no one survived. The Virus spread across the world, first in Europe, then Asia, then somehow it made its way across oceans and the Americas were plagued. Africa fell quickly; it’s population dropping from almost one billion to only several hundred, then a hundred, then a dozen. Europe fell next and suddenly the lush fields of Ireland, the walls of the Coliseum, and the vineyards in Italy. They were all gone. The U.S government had begun to crumble. It was a free-for-all, with brothers turning on brothers, friends striking down friends. The Virus didn’t just attack people; it attacked our faith, and our entire structure of society. But most importantly it took our food.

For a while we could survive on cows, pigs, and chickens. Then the feed ran out and all that were left were five billion humans with nothing to eat…. then four billion… then two billion… then a few thousand…. when the population had dropped to a few hundred, things had begun to look better. We thought perhaps the person that had led the assault had been killed by his own creation, or was hiding from the rest of the world. But no one really cared because the grass was growing again. Things returned to normal, or as close to normal as it could get. Then just when we thought it was safe, it happened again. This time it came faster. It wasn’t slow like the weeks and months it had taken before. Overnight it came, devastating us while we were comforted, sleeping, and protected. I remember my mom screaming when she woke up and saw the purple cloud on the horizon. As it passed, it left a yellow-gray wasteland behind it. Nothing grew, and nothing moved.

We hid in a cave, hoping that the cloud wouldn’t find us. It found my brother, and I’ll never forget the look of horror on his face when he saw his reflection. His green eyes had turned purple, his skin was ashen, and his hair bleached white... It has been two years now, and so far, we haven’t found anyone else… any survivors at least. The Virus hasn’t attacked us since, but it’s still hiding somewhere. Anything could be contaminated. It could be in the food we eat, the ground we walk one, or the dead strangers’ beds we’ve stolen. Not that it matters, because they aren’t around to protest, but we still feel guilt. Sometimes it seems as if our dreams are haunted by the ones who didn’t survive. Almost nothing survived the Fall. Now it’s just me, my parents, and my best friend Will. We are all that’s left of what was once the United States. We’ve traveled to Chicago, Saint Louis, Kansas City, and Denver, but all were deserted, and empty. Then the gasoline ran out, and nothing was left for us to drive. So now we run, walk and bike hoping that we can find a place to stay, hoping that we can find a place safe from the Virus. We are fleeing from the purple cloud that has spread over the world, trying to find a safe spot, as we try to find a chink in its armor.

At night you can hear the Virus hum. It prefers the dark, cold of the night. It seeks out what little nourishment it has left for itself, and for us. But there is nothing left. Survival is its number one objective…. it’s ours too. We live in fear that wherever we’re staying for the night isn’t safe enough. That the Virus can seep through the cracks in the walls, or it could have been nesting in the food we ate. If that happens… the world could be over. Humans may be gone. That’s why we are searching…. We are searching for the antidote.


The author's comments:
This story is something I've been thinking about for a while. I hope to continue it, because I think it would make a very interesting novel.

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