The End (An Original Story)
After the Nuclear Diasaster of North America, almost the entire countries' population is wiped out. The survivers consist of a mere 500 adults- the wealthy and powerful. And 20,000 children aged 12-18 scattered across what was once known as the U.S.A. In each Area, there is two Sectors. And in each Sector, there are 1,000 children and 25 adults. But the adults have a secret, and one not a single child knows about. For if they knew, they could easily overthrow the harsh goverment and take over.
The Beginning Of An Era
"Is it over?" I whisper, barely audible. Another bomb could go off at any second just by detecting the faint sound of my voice.
A small girl tugging on the pant of an older child stares up at me. Her glassy hazel eyes sink into mine and I feel guilty. This poor girls' parents are dead, as are mine. But still, at least I had some good years with them once I actually matured enough to hold a true conversation. That poor thing will never have that privelage.
I search the eyes of others, but find not what I seek. Here before me I see tattered clothing, mops for hair, dull-eyed kids, and scars deep within that one could not see with even an x-ray.
"I think its over." One of the older girls whispers. The boy beside her nods, face serious and drawn. He must be brave- or an absolute airhead depending on how one looks at it, for he pushes his hand up to open the thatched roof and peers out of our make-do shelter.
Our small town of Bridge couldn't afford the big fancy shelters with bathrooms, beds, and even chaperones. No. We get stuffy boxes underground that are like giant metal coffins- except more crowded and we have a chance of coming out.
His head makes a small turn to view probably the ruins of our town and anything beyond. He pops back down an slams the top door shut. The seventy nine children- I counted- all stare at him intently. We watch his every move as if a cough or stretch could be a message such as one revealed in morse code.
"Its gone." His lip trembles. "Everything's gone." He wipes a single tear that escapes his deep grey eyes and heaves a sigh. It looks like he will be taking the leadership role of our 'group' for now. That's what we are- a survival group.
But its only natural. I've seen him at the market on various occasions. I believe his name to be David, no something else. Ah, yes, the infamous Dalton Typolt. He has been like the father of his four younger siblings ever since his own walked out four years ago.
"I don't reconcile anybody would like to go outside, so we should probably introduce ourselves. But first, I want anybody under the age of 10 to get here in the middle." A swarm of tiny children slide into the center of our box shaped shelter. I counted, once again. It passes time. There are only twelve of them, and most look over 6.
"I'm Dalton Typolt. Aged 18. These are my brothers and sister." He points to two twin boys, an older looking one with freckles- as many as stars that speckle the night sky- and the little girl from before. I sigh in relief. At least she has somebody.
"I'm Nick and this is Nate." One of the twins gesture to him and his brother. The other boy solemnly nods his head in greeting.
"I'm Damion, aged 12." He heaves a sigh and props the little girl onto his lap. We all sit in an odd formation, but nobody seems to care. We are family now whether we like it or not. Something uncontrollable, a tragedy at that, binds us together.
"Jaja!" The girl cries out. Dalton stifles a short laugh. "This is my baby sis' Janessa. You may call her Jaja though, as she pleases." A few of us older kids smile a bit. Many of us have young siblings too, or had.
Many more people introduce myself and its like something is caught in my throat when its my turn. I press my lips together and speak.
"Hi, I'm Rin." I say a bit quietly. "Age 17, and I have, erm, had a little sister." I mentally scold myself for mentioning her. Now there will be silence and I can't even stop it. But there isn't. They just continue on.
So are little meet-n-greet will finish soon. Then what? Are we supposed to go outside and explore- see if we can find more survivors. It doesn't work like that. Breaking my train of thought, there is a knocking on the metal door above us. And I can assure you it didn't come from the inside.