17 May 2012
Four years have past. Four years since the night that changed my life forever.
Everything that ever meant anything to me; my home, my friends, my family: all gone.
I still have hope, which keeps me going day by day. Maybe, just like me, mummy and daddy found other survivors and are still alive. I was one of the lucky ones. I was able to find safety.
I can remember those days after "it" terrorised this city, this world, as if they were yesterday. The hunger. The uncertainty. The mourning.
I had waited for my parents for two days, sitting by the door. Waiting for them to come back laughing, saying "we got you!" But they never turned up.
I started to realise that they were never coming back after those first two days. I still cry now at that thought. The hopelessness I felt at that point. The uncertainty I had in making my decision.
Had they returned later that day, seen I wasn't there and gave up looking? I will never know.
Now I am stuck with these people. I feel so alone. They're nice people and have looked after me well, but I just want my mummy and daddy back.
There had been rumours amongst the group, murmurs I had picked up on when the grown ups were talking. Rumours of people disappearing. Rumours of "it" returning. Uncertainty surrounds the group like a plague, affecting anyone who is subjected to it. Nobody knows what is happening, or who will be next.
It could be me.
What Is Going On? Part 3 • Opuss № I