Dolor Mortem (An Original Group Story)

A fatal and extreley contagious disease has spread throughout the world, taking life after life. The population is dropping drastically and only the fearless will strive to survive.

Chapter 1

Changes

by: Grunge
You have to be strong, I told myself, Be strong for her, you’re all she has now.

We were on the run, a quick-paced escape held together with pure survival instinct. Our feet pounded against the slick mud frantically, yearning for freedom. We had to leave, as fast as we could. Those were the directions our mother had given us before she shoed us out of the house, with nothing but a backpack full of food, band-aids, a few bottles of my meds, and a pistol. The gun was for me, and for me only. I was the oldest, and I knew how to use one. I had to protect her, with my life, that was my duty now… and I wouldn’t fail. The meds were mine too, because I had a disorder, and it was pretty hard on me. I had Bipolar disorder, constant violent mood swings, but that was the least of our problems. We were running from something, something deadly, it would kill us just like it was going to kill our mother. It was the most deadly disease known to mankind, and it wasn’t discovered all too long ago. It arrived spontaneously, in Seattle, and now it has infected everywhere else on this earth excluding northern Canada, Alaska, and the two poles. I lived in Denver, Colorado, or at least I did before I had to leave with my sister so we wouldn’t catch the bug and die, like everyone else.

This bug was called the Dolor Mortem, meaning the pain of death in Latin, or pretty much just suffering to an extreme extent before your body finally decides to give up and die. I didn’t know all too much about it, we learned some in school, but other than that I was clueless. All I knew about this grotesque disease was that it was immensely contagious, once you got it you’d better lock yourself up in a room to die, because if you got near anyone else, they’d be dead too.

Knowing that my mother had clearly obtained this disease shortly before I was forced to leave didn’t make me feel any better about anything, and my sister didn’t seem to be her usual overly naïve self. My sister was quite the character; outgoing, brave, and sometimes a bit ditzy. She sported a thin mop of light orange hair on her head, deep, wondrous blue eyes, and a face that couldn’t pass for anything but innocence. She was pure-hearted and kind, but often found it hard to face cold truths and reality. She usually spent her time daydreaming, swinging in the park, just thinking about dragons and whatever else ran through her head, then afterwards she’d go home and tell mom all about it. Now, though, she was walking beside me clutching my hand weakly with tears streaming ceaselessly down her heavily freckled cheeks. She was mentally stable, and strong, but losing mom was just too much for her.

On the other hand, there was me; moody, sullen, and I could most likely be classified as insane, really. I looked much more like my mother than my sister did, my sister looked like my father with her childish appearance and strawberry blonde hair. The main physical trait that I shared with my mother were my eyes; a musky olive green that signified my name: Olive, Olive Undine. I was seventeen years old, a small girl, but I packed a great punch… just to let you know. Now that my mom was in my house dying, probably getting eaten alive by the nasty Dolor Mortem, I was my sister’s new guardian. I promised my mother that I’d never let her down, I’d survive with her, we’d be alright, I’d do anything to protect her, anything. The entire horrifying even of today brought out my fiercely overprotective side, it’s amazing how one thing can change so much about you. I used to be vulnerable and sort of helpless in a way. I’d let my manic depression get the better of me, I’d never do anything about it. I’d let it eat away at me and change me into a impulsive beast, but now I was stone cold, with an unmoving soul, determined to a point of foolishness. I’d changed a lot in the past few hours, so much I’m sure my mother wouldn’t even recognized me if she ever saw me again, if she wasn’t going to die.

My mother ( Annie was her name, but I never called her that, I always called her Mom like any other teenage girl would ) had gone to get groceries. We had run out, which was a panic stricken moment due to our desire for not leaving the house, and she had told us that she’d get some more. I had warned her to be careful, to wear a mask or something, and to try her best to avoid any human contact. Being in the real world was fatal, one touch could kill you. Eventually she came back, coughing slightly, and weak looking. At first glance I knew what happened and my heart had sunken into my chest. Our eyes met for one last time, and then she told us to stay away. Soon enough we were gone, a mess of tears, and on our way to Nunavut. Her words still echoed throughout my mind:

”Live on, for me.”

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