Chapter 3
Pt. 1
2715 AD:
"Dear diary, today marks the 10th anniversary of the expedition into space, and things are going well. " Wrote a plain young man, into his plain diary, sitting in a mostly plain room. "Ten years is a really long time, I'm 26 now, but it seems like I have barely lived. No highschool, no dating, no parties, just boring old ship routines and boring learning 'school' sessions." The still boyish man wrote, reminiscing about a childhood he never really had.
"I still get sick sometimes, and whenever I do, I get the strange dreams." He was referring to an incident that occurred seven years ago which now made him terribly ill from time to time. "I didn't really write about it when it happened, but the ship passed through some very strange floating mass of dust and gas, and ever since then, I get terrible headache, a fever and bad dreams about ever one on the ship." The young man began quivering just thinking about the terrible headaches that caused him to pass out and have wonderfully realistic and terrifying visions about his shipmates, and the world he left behind upon the arrival of the ship after the 40 year mission was over.
"My dreams always start off the same way, when the ship gets back to earth, everyone in the crew dies except for me. The scientist back on earth don't know what to believe and that there was a disease that I was possibly immune to. Soon, everyone doing tests, or that had any contact with the ship's crew died. Then their families, then soon the entire continent of North America. Finally, there is no one alive except for myself." The young man began to slowly sob as he thought about how his dreams had started as blurry visions and had increased in to full-color nightmares of epic proportions.
The young man shifted gears and began writing about some menial anecdote that had taken place in the mess hall, taking some of the fear out of his mind. He stopped crying and had actually begun smiling while he was writing about how one of his crew mates had sprayed a beverage out their nose. Suddenly without notice, a shrill beep came from overhead and a prerecorded robotic voice prompted "Lunch will now be served in mess hall 1".
"Looks like I have to go now diary" The young man wrote as if talking to someone in casual conversation. "That's all I've got for now, so I guess I'll sign off" He wound down the diary entry and ended it as if he had written a letter to himself. "Yours truly, Francis J. Steinbreck"
-30 years later-
Everyone was dead. Everyone in the entire world had been killed by an unknown disease, except Francis J. Steinbreck. The now middle aged man was walking down the street in a Chicago suburb, hardly recognizing what he was seeing around him. The poor and panicked had died right in the streets, littering the roads and sidewalks, filling the park he had walked his dog in as a child.
"This is my fault, I'm the one who killed everyone on earth. Billions upon billions of people have been killed. All because of me, me and this stupid disease." Francis bellowed into the sky. "I don't deserve to continue living, while the stench of death lingers in my nose around every single corner. I must meet my maker and end my own life." Madness had begun to take place, and Francis could no longer just think, he had to announce all of his thoughts.
Soon, a strange voice began to chuckle and conspire in Francis's head. Snickers and giggles in some strange language that Francis was beginning to understand. This drove Francis further into madness, as Francis had learned that he did not have a disease at all, and that the voice in his head had not come from dementia.
Read more!
2715 AD:
"Dear diary, today marks the 10th anniversary of the expedition into space, and things are going well. " Wrote a plain young man, into his plain diary, sitting in a mostly plain room. "Ten years is a really long time, I'm 26 now, but it seems like I have barely lived. No highschool, no dating, no parties, just boring old ship routines and boring learning 'school' sessions." The still boyish man wrote, reminiscing about a childhood he never really had.
"I still get sick sometimes, and whenever I do, I get the strange dreams." He was referring to an incident that occurred seven years ago which now made him terribly ill from time to time. "I didn't really write about it when it happened, but the ship passed through some very strange floating mass of dust and gas, and ever since then, I get terrible headache, a fever and bad dreams about ever one on the ship." The young man began quivering just thinking about the terrible headaches that caused him to pass out and have wonderfully realistic and terrifying visions about his shipmates, and the world he left behind upon the arrival of the ship after the 40 year mission was over.
"My dreams always start off the same way, when the ship gets back to earth, everyone in the crew dies except for me. The scientist back on earth don't know what to believe and that there was a disease that I was possibly immune to. Soon, everyone doing tests, or that had any contact with the ship's crew died. Then their families, then soon the entire continent of North America. Finally, there is no one alive except for myself." The young man began to slowly sob as he thought about how his dreams had started as blurry visions and had increased in to full-color nightmares of epic proportions.
The young man shifted gears and began writing about some menial anecdote that had taken place in the mess hall, taking some of the fear out of his mind. He stopped crying and had actually begun smiling while he was writing about how one of his crew mates had sprayed a beverage out their nose. Suddenly without notice, a shrill beep came from overhead and a prerecorded robotic voice prompted "Lunch will now be served in mess hall 1".
"Looks like I have to go now diary" The young man wrote as if talking to someone in casual conversation. "That's all I've got for now, so I guess I'll sign off" He wound down the diary entry and ended it as if he had written a letter to himself. "Yours truly, Francis J. Steinbreck"
-30 years later-
Everyone was dead. Everyone in the entire world had been killed by an unknown disease, except Francis J. Steinbreck. The now middle aged man was walking down the street in a Chicago suburb, hardly recognizing what he was seeing around him. The poor and panicked had died right in the streets, littering the roads and sidewalks, filling the park he had walked his dog in as a child.
"This is my fault, I'm the one who killed everyone on earth. Billions upon billions of people have been killed. All because of me, me and this stupid disease." Francis bellowed into the sky. "I don't deserve to continue living, while the stench of death lingers in my nose around every single corner. I must meet my maker and end my own life." Madness had begun to take place, and Francis could no longer just think, he had to announce all of his thoughts.
Soon, a strange voice began to chuckle and conspire in Francis's head. Snickers and giggles in some strange language that Francis was beginning to understand. This drove Francis further into madness, as Francis had learned that he did not have a disease at all, and that the voice in his head had not come from dementia.
Read more!
posted by Jaron at 12:00 PM
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