《When the Heavens Fell》


 Chapter 1: When the world sighed

    The first morning light eeked it''s meager existence from the darkness of night. Like a curtain being lifted, more and more rays of warmth, energy, and exuberance filled the world. Cacaphonies of birds took to the sky in search of food, company, and exercise. The day had come, like it had come before, and would have always done.


    Unfortunately, chance reared its ugly head, for there were no people about and the birds in the sky flocked together with a variety of colors. Some large birds of prey flew alongside what normally would have been a quick snack, spiralling in the heavenly expanse as if dancing their last dance.


    The town''s that nestled all around the world lay dormant, still sleeping, as a purple hue came from the East. The ground trembled lightly as if the world could not contain it''s excitement and heavens a great sigh.


    The birds became more organized and took the form of hurricanes in the air. If one could see the fish in the seas, they too were creating vacuums to suck the air, forming whirlpools here and there.


    Serpents stood on their tails, strething their mouths as wide as to swallow the sun. Dogs huddled around one another and prostrated towards the rising sun. Reptiles stood on two legs with their tail pointing to the sun as if to pierce it.


    Strange occurrences appeared around the world with not a single human presence. It was as if mankind had been given a drug to render them unconscious.


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    The quaking of the earth grew stronger and stronger. Cities toppled, mountains formed in their ruins, as the world stretched. The oceans shrank, water turning into precipitous vapors, with salt collecting in basins carrying a strange crystalline glisten. Water poured from the sky for days and nights on end, and humanity still slumbered.


    The birds in the sky began great wars, the whales in the oceans began to predate once more, and massive creatures were being created in tides as the world change. The magnificent wild regained its dangerous splendor, and humanity had no idea what would occur when they woke.


    Roused in insatiable hunger, feral cats and dogs roamed the land. Flightless birds regained their raptor like qualities. Insects grew gargantuan. Then, the trees changed.


    Roots extended through the earth like moles on human skin. Interwoven without end, connected, and rooted to its source. Only through extranous means could the plants be unearthed.


    Normal shrubs looked like forests. Oaks like mountains, willows like islands. Fruits, plentiful and colorful fruits, painted the wilds. Thick fragrances, like pollen, visible to the eye, created auroras from the fruit.


    Animals attracted to the smells warred amongst one another. Humanity, within the sparse few unrecognizable settlements, awoke to a sweet and dreamy smell.


    Humanity, what first greeted their eyes, was introduced to hell when the heavens fell.

 Chapter 2: Waking Up to Blood and Guts

    Thick, salty, slime dripped down into the mouth and into the face of an unconscious teen. The young man, with black hair matted by blood, was lying on the freshly grown grass surrounded by rubble. A short distance away was a collapsed building of an unknown height. The boy, based on his sprawling position, seemed to have fallen from building as it collapsed. Luckily or unluckily, he survived with only a deep gash near his scalp. Where the tissue parted, bone could be faintly seen. The amount of blood lost, forming a puddle around him, left it questionable if he would survive. Almost as if being roused by the taste of his blood and the wet soil beneath him, the teen attempted to get up. He pushed his hands into the wet earth before a strong wave of dizziness struck him. A hiss and ouch, followed by a strong string of curses, spewed from his adolescent mouth.


    "Goddamn it," he griped, gingerly touching his forhead, "who the fuck beat my ass and kicked me outside?"


    The young man rolled to his side, the building behind him, and looked into the distance. As his sight focused, to his dismay, he realized a forest lay before him. Startled, with adrenaline pumping, the boy say up too quickly. He stammered for a moment, a sign of his confusion, before he sat lost in thought.


    Speaking softly to himself, the boy asked, "Did someone try to kill me?" A cold chill crept down his back. Tearing a piece of ripped cloth from his tee shirt, the boy covered the gash on his forehead. He mechanically staunchest the bleeding, not realizing the shock he was in, as he wobbled to stand.


    Turning around unsteadily, the boy could see the vestiges of a building of sorts. Not connecting the dots, the boy walked towards the ruins. Cautiously approaching the wreckage with a limp, the young man came across a torn off hand. The connected tissue from the wrist looked like it had been wrenched from the body. Bone was fragmented and flesh was rended.


    A wave of nausea struck the traumatized youth. He retched to the side of the hand, glancing at it from the side of his eye, allowing the cogs of his mind to turn.


    "Wha-what the fuck is going on?"


    The question the youth asked lingered in the air a moment. Feeling more anxious than ever, the boy began to laugh hysterically.


    "What the FUCK is going on?!" He screamed. His vision was rapidly draining from bottom to top. He was quickly losing conscious. Sweet sleep took hold of his body as he relinquished control, fainting from the traumatic experience he faces.


    ***


    Clouds of nearly imperceptible purple smoke lifted in the air. It twisted into faces of mythological creatures, dieties, monstrous beings, animals too grotesque to exist on earth, godly beings veiled in mystery, and more. Several scientists examined the mass, looking at the interaction the particles had with materials introduced within the environment it existed, rapt with focus and attention.


    A gentleman, not wearing a lab coat the others wore, smiled while drafting a pipe. Grey smoke clouded the room slowly from the man''s nose and the ivory mass his mouth held.


    The man wore plaid pants, a brown vest, a rich gold silk shirt with a pocket chain that connected to his trouser clasps, sleeves rolled, a golden Rolex watch, diamond patterned socks, and custom made shoes from an unidentified material. He smiled watching the scientist work. There was a scar that ran down his left brow, arching to his temple, accentuating a dangerous feel to his person. His eyes looked at the men working like a mischevious child looking at ants.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    "Anthony, Antoine, Olivera, how is the research going on my energy source. It''s spectacular isn''t it?"


    A scientist with a noticeably larger frame, square face, and dark brown hair responded, " Th- this... I''ve never seen anything like this? And you said you identified this- this... - stuff - on earth?"


    The other scientist stood beside the other man, seemingly ignoring his comment, fully focusing on collecting information on its sampling.


    The suave gentleman with a sinister face pushed back his silver blond hair while sighing. "Now when did I say that , Anthony?" A dangerous glint passed through the man''s eyes. "I said I found it, not that I discovered it."


    The strange remark sent chills down the scientist backs. They had studied the material provided to them, and although they were aware of its existence, could determine changes to matter inundated by its existence, they could not categorize or interact with its existence. Several test proved that the purple mist had a sense of primitive sentience that sought to restructure and reformat material compounds to a more stable form.


    Olivera, a masculine woman, turned with her brown and angular face , with shock. A scintillating sound came from her hoarse voice, grating in the air, "This mist is the spiritual air that is talked in of old... The breath of God. Wh- how?"


    The man in the suit stopped Oliver''s from speaking with a glance. She looked at him in dismay, her feet slowly lifting off the ground, being suffocated by an unseen might.


    The man chuckled, "You''re right, and the world will see the brutal side of the Gods might."


    Slowly the man''s voice altered into a language that the scientist identified they could not know. They felt the meaning of each of the man''s words. The words echoed in their subconscious. Olivera was thrust into the chamber, warping from the sterilized field away from the purple mist, into the mist . She writhed in an invisible hold. Her body was forceably reconstructed, becoming more perfect as was willed by the breath, reaching a more feminine form from her previous manish looks. After being reconstructed, she lay on the ground seemingly lifeless.


    Antoine attempted to run, but the doors to the room would not open without everyone''s clearance cards. Effectively trapped, the three would have to wait.


    "Now," the mysterious, ruthless, and suave man said, "let us await the day the Gods descend to this plane."


    ***


    When the young man woke, he realized it was night. He felt like he had slept for several days. His rumbling stomach attempted to affirm that. The stench of vomit crawled into his nostrils causing him to bite his tongue. The bitter acrid flavor in his mouth, followed by a sweet salty flavor, told him that he was not dreaming before.


    His enfeebled body stood with the speed of a toddler picking urself back up. Everything around him seemed more heavy, the atmosphere, his thoughts, everything ran sluggishly.


    The young man approached the general direction of the severed hand. He realized the night sky was brighter than usual even though he could not see the moon.


    Finding the hand, feet away from where he slept, caused the young man to experience chills. A passing by night wind did not help. Fighting back his uncomfortable feelings, the boy picked the hand up. After inspecting the hand, the boy took notice of a ring on the mangled hand.


    Bringing the hand closer to his face, the boy was instantly shocked. He had seen that ring before. Not just once, many times before. After all, for every child there is a parent.


    Cold water poured from the boys back. His mind churned with speeds faster than it has since he woke. He realized there was a slim possibility his father being alive based on the hand beside him. He also realized his mother was probably dead. Frenetically digging through the rubble until his hand touched something wet, flakey, and thick, the boy''s worst thoughts were realized. Blood and guts, a pastry patty of human flesh, was the last of almost everyone in the building.

 Chapter 3: Remember as to Forget; Forget as to Live

    Tears fell like hail from the young man''s eyes. Wails and sobs streamed from his throat like a drowned person being resuscitated. Bitterness filled the young man as he looked at the rubble. He consoled himself that his parents would live on through him, but he had no faith in life after death.


    Curses filled his mind as he thought of how his mother loved her God. He remembered asking how she could limit a God to being only good. Now, the only thing he desired was for God to be good.


    "You took them, " he screeched at the air. His voice seemingly inhuman from the rage. "Why? Why?! Why?! WHY?!"


    The resemblance of a sane person that the boy tried to keep flew away. He preoccupied the pain of loss in his heart by brutally thrusting his fist into the hard cement blocks. His hands were malleable due to lack of training, fractures appeared throughout his hands, but he ignored it all. Only a calm fire that indicated he was barely alive remained in his heart.


    The boy continued to fiercely strike the stone until his hands seized with pain. He fought the growing fatigue striking his taught mind. He looked to find a simple shelf to sit on. His stomach beat like a drum.


    Looking over his shoulder, the boy had an aimless face. He meandered around the ruins and rubble in search of something or someone to comfort him. Soon his mind regressed towards a more primitive line of thought. Me hungry. Me hurt. Me lonely.


    He was aching all over, and limped for what seemed to be a mile. Attempting to align his memories of his neighborhood with the current wreckage, the boy searched for a convenience store.


    I''m the distssnce, a few hundred yards away, the boy saw the outline of a blue roof. Hunger compelled him to limp faster towards the building in the distance.


    As he approached the building that seemed almost illusory, the boy heard a buzzing sound.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Whaaping!


    Something struck the ground a few feet behind his head. The boy looked onwards and saw a few silhouettes in the distant haze.


    Whaling!


    The sound occurred again closer to his face.


    Whaakrrst!


    A bullet ripped into the boys arm, exitting the other side, illiciting the boys instinct to kick back in.


    As if aroused from slumber, the boy stammered and held his hands above head as best as he could. Blood flowed down from the wound on his arm into his shoulder.


    "D d don''t shoot!" He screamed hoarsely. The sound of boots stepping on asphalt and a gun being rested came nearer than desired to the boy.


    "Look ''Ere," an obviously red- neck man ssid, "got ourselfs somewun else alov."


    The country man cracked his knuckles. He then extended a hand to help the boy crouching. His actions showed he was attempting to help.


    "Sorry ''R shooting ya befur. Thought y''d be a zombie within the way you was walkin''."


    The man stopped attempting to help the boy after noticing the blood on his arm. He reached in his pocket and took out some tape and gauze.


    " ''S the bullit inner?"


    The boy didn''t respond. The country man took his brown leathers hands and pinched the wound. Blood welled from both sides of the arm.


    "Nope." He said casually while wiping down the arm with a wetwipe he got from god knows where.


    "Name''s Charles, what''s your''n?"


    The boy watched as Charles bandaged his arm. He then stared deeply at Charles with animosity.


    "I don''t have a name anymore," the boy said with remorse. "I''m sure the people who cared about my name are gone now."


    Charles paused a moment, smiled, and laughed.


    "Well, then, sounds t''me like you got yurself a chance to make mor''a yurself then you used t''be. I''m callin'' ya Chance."


    Charles slapped his knee and laughed like he made the funniest joke. He then donned a serious personage.


    "You don''t rap, do you? Nah, you wouldn''t have a Chance!"


    Chance stared at Charles hard once more. His brow trembled before he gave a slight laugh. Tears fell down his face once more as he realized Charles was probably like him. Scared and alone. Only, Charles would make a new family for himself while he wanted to become wild.


    Chance parted his dry lips, larger than he had done before, cracking them in the process. He chuckled, bowed his head, and said, "Thank you."


    Pain from his hands caused a dull reminder of his recklessness. He recalled himself telling others before this catastrophe happened, "I won''t be weak if the apocalypse comes. I''ll be a leader." Now he realized how naive he had been. He understood now that to forget is as to live as remembering is to forget. You can''t have one without the other.

 Chapter 4: Staggering

    Chance presented his hand to Charles. Charles, looking fairly baffled at the strange recovery the boy made, hesitantly extended his own hand to clasp Chance''s. The two hands met, crossing palms over one another like a regular shaking gesture, then Chance drew in. Charles was taken aback by the sudden pulling force and lurched forwards before he realized Chance had begun to half kneel.


    Placing Chance into a one armed shoulder assist, keeping the injured arm elevated above the shoulders, Charles began to trod in the direction when Chance came from. Chance drug his feet, pulling back slightly, throwing off the equilibrium of the duo. They staggered for a moment until Charles bit down with his feet in the soil and took the brunt of his weight.


    "Look ''ere... I know what y''as thinking. Y''er wanting some first aid? T''bad there are probably more survivors tha''re thinking like you."


    Chances eyebrows raised subtly. Charles continued, "So iffin you want to go fight fer more wounds, go''n ahead. But, I ain''t helping y''as."


    A peppered expression flew on Chances face. He grit his teeth and pushed off of Charles, staggering once more for a few steps. When he was stablized, he growled, "Why do you care?" His eyes shot poison at Charles. "I''m in pain," he uttered with a ruined voice. "I need help."


    Charles sat as Chance vented. He reached in the front pocket of his camouflaged tactical shirt. From the pocket, he pulled a metal case, from the case came a cigarette and lighter. Charles lit the cigarette, took a long drag, and exhaled slowly. He then offered the fag to Chance.


    "Look," Charles said coyly, "yer acting like this'' re fag. Yo''re burning up, and will end soon. I need people t''watch my back. I don''t need fags like you."


    Chance became even more enraged only the strength he had was like a false bravado. He felt like a candle in the wind. He huffed, breathing in the newly polluted air, and puffed with his hands on his knees. His eyes still carried a wary glint to them.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    "Look''ere," Charles continued, rubbing the orange stubble on his brown face, "it''s gettin darker ''n darker. Yo''re out of gas. Other may be lurkin about. Yo''re injured, and I ain''t killed ya yet. Why so hesitant."


    Chance held a distant glare in the back of his eyes. He muttered in the most silent way he could, " Ya shot at me..."


    Charles looked like a trout jumping up stream. He cackled loudly and provokingly. He seemed almost like he had forgotten the three rounds he fired from the handgun he lifted. "It was fate," he said between laughs, "that I''m such a terrible shot. God didn''t want you dead twice now."


    Chance screamed, "God, what God? It may as well be a dog for someone to eat! I''ll be my own god."


    Charles eyes took on a queer light. He stepped back, in a defensive form, and sighed. Charles bowed his head and said, "If there''s no God, why''s all this shit happen''d? Nucl''ar weapons wh''re no one got roasted? We''re not dead of radiatin." Charles looked up to Chance and laughed, "We''re not dead to suffer. Chance. We''re here for redempshin. We don''t choose when we die."


    Spitting Chance turned, he looked over his shoulder, and waved his good arm. "Right, you hillbilly fanatic. I''m gone."


    Chance turned to limp five steps before the sound of a cocked gun came from the back of his head. The gun was a standard six shot police issued revolver. The iron sight stuck to his head.


    "I gave ya a chance, Chance." Charles said. "God gave ya chances, nah rot in hell. Hopefully, I c''n get into Gawds good graces offa gettin rid of a blasphemer."


    The clock fully set on the revolver. Cold sweat peeled down Chances back.


    "You''re right," he said, head lowered, breathing shallower breaths, "end it."


    Charles slowly squeezed the trigger, and just as the hammer fell, a loud screening noise came from above. Charles jerked his head up to look at the dimly lit purple sky for the first time. Night had come quickly, and with it a black shadowed figure appeared. It was a monstrosity that flew like an f150 plane. It was headed right for them.


    Charles repositioned his gun to the skie and began to fire. Three dense noises of ricocheting bullets occurrs. The gun clicked empty, and Charles looked wide eyes at the impending doom the figure brought as it cascaded downwards. Chance collapsed right as two massive claws took half of Charles body. The remains were left, and the beast of prey flew into the distance.


    Now, Charles remaining body was left staggering, falling, kneeling, and lying prostrate before the unconscious Chance.

 Chapter 5: Damaged Goods

    Fish and liver are two things that shouldn''t be left to rot. After all, the smells of these two meats when their proteins decompose is the closest stench to death. Chance, however lucky he was to even have a still beating heart, awoke to the smell of rot and ass.


    In his sleep he had jostled about, in a prone and crawling position, like he was trying to run away. Unfortunately, his antics placed him halfway up a dead man''s ass. A putrid green film covered the exposed viscera of the man''s torn torso.


    Chance, opening his eyes to the disgustingly horrific sight of Charles, blinked rapidly as if to clear his sight. He fumbled with his still injured arm, lifting it up to prod at his face, until he realized he wasn''t dead.


    "Ha, ha ha!" The teen laughed anxiously, "If there''s really a God out there, you''re a fucking sick twisted son of a bitch."


    The nervous energy Chance disposed was nearly exhausted at that point. Chance felt a faint chill crawl up his back when he finished admonishing God. He broke into a cold swear. Realizing what ever out there was stronger than him, Chance decided to resign to fate. Chance reasoned that if accepting death once saved him from dying, why worry about death at all.


    A deep padded sound of breaking branches came from Chances right side. Chance dared not to look at the source of the sound. Hissing breaths spread around the young man, encircling him. Realizing he was being stalked, a primal indignance kindled within his body.


    Chance abruptly stood and screamed, "If you''re going to fucking do it, do it!"


    A low growl hummed like a one thousand decibel bass boosted engine. Chances ears began to feel uncomfortable as thick liquid leaked from them. A slight perforation was created in rhe young man''s ear. Hearing became harder. Unaware of his growing disability, Chance continued to scream.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Swiftly, as if realizing the small creature known as Chance was too feisty for it''s like, the source of the disturbances left.


    After screaming a while longer, Chance realized his hearing was slightly muffled. He cursed gingerly after touching the side of his face and noticing fresh blood from his ears.


    Searching for a proper orientation, the young man finally spied the roof of the convenience store. He began to take unsure steps towards the building. The hopes of life were once again kindled in his form.


    After several hours of walking towards the building in the distance, Chance had a revelation.


    Chance realized the distance to the convenience store was no longer than a stone skip away previously. The time he had walked currently, although injured, seemed nearly three times as long as usual. Chance also compensated if he was hypersensitive towards time.


    Thinking back, Chance realized that Charles'' body had begun to decompose. Chance made the conjecture that Charles might just be a ball of puss and fungus in two days and by three days, bones. Chance felt a faint sense of loss. He looked at his wounded arms, legs, head, and body. His hands traced the injuries that faintly itched. Pressing further down into the inflamed masses, Charles realized he was already healing.


    ''What does this mean?'', Chance asked himself. He then thought back on the massive shadow that came right as he lost consciousness. He thought of how Charles was extremely perturbed and completely ignored his existence. He thought of the beast that growled and ruptured his eat drums. ''Were those animals,'' he asked. His thoughts raced with a clarity he had never experienced before. ''Is this still the Earth I know?''


    Chances thoughts led him to walk without conscious thought. His mind was within his body but his body was without his mind. Two hours past while he was in this state, the sky was darkening once more, but Chance was now at the convenience store. The half demolished building awoke Chance from his stupor. With the sight of potential food and water before him, Chance felt his fatigue even more distinctly. His body acted as if he was an addict in withdrawls. He barely forced his hands toward the sliding doors, pressing on the weather proofed glass, when a cracking followed by a shattering sound rang out.


    The glass of the door burst into fine sand allowing entrance into the building. A humid and rank smell of soured milk, mold, and ripe bodies decomposing spread with the fresh air entering the building. Chance, ignoring his sense of smell, walked into the dark of the building. Damaged goods or not, he was bound to find something useful for himself.

 Chapter 6: Spoiled Rotten

    Scrounging for food has always been a basic human necessity. When sanity and satiety is at a low point, humanity will even compromise their health to eat. As a basic desire, hunger, thirst, and copulation become instinct during stressful times. Even the most reasonable man can turn into a rapist, beast, when hysteria sets in.


    Chance, having derived his outlook on life with complacency to the current situation, was by far a calm person in comparison to others who had starved for weeks. His body, though battered, bruised, and punctured, was only moderately weakened than it usually was. If his mental fortitude was completely guarded from the shock of the new, rapidly, changing environment, he would realize more than his supernatural healing. Chance, having had a stable mindset, might''ve been able to conjecture that all survivors may have changed. Some could have even changed more than he had!


    The most pitiable aspect of Chances life is that he has always accepted the wrongs he received. No matter how much he cursed his parents, teachers, managers, executives, etc. He would do nothing to alter the situation. Chance would be the mule to the bully, the scapegoat to the fraud, even the bastard for the jerk. He would accept it all, silently ruminating over the injustice, and blame society at it''s foundation.


    Although he appeared normal, although he had been in school to further his education after highschool, although he had a decent full-time job as a secretarial assistant, Chance was inept at understanding himself. He likened himself to be a dark horse waiting for his final Sprint. He had a, "I''m going to be the leader, in the end," mentality. This mentality gave him a strong, enduring mind, but eased his motivation to a grinding halt.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Fumbling in the near darkness, Chance spent six more hours. He, surprisingly, managed to track the time he was awake with a convent glance at a watch he forgot he was wearing (kappa). The time from when he woke until now totalled nearly 16 hours, yet the darkest point of night just fell. By his feeble conjectures, Chance related the world''s movement must have slowed with the expansion of the land. Invariably, the days, orbit, and season''s had all changed.


    Having had this epiphany, Chance jerked into turbo speed. The instinct of a forebearing winter struck him with a fear. Chance, from before, had watched many survivalist guides. Cold withers the spirit and silences the body. Chance did not want to die as he had heard how spoiled rotten humanity had become. Complacency would only force him to suffer.


    I''m his haste, Chance came across several granola bar packs, a huge jug of water, and a twelve pack of flashlights. He took the goods, shoved as much food as he could in his pants pockets, and attempted to open the jug of water. From videos Chance watched, he know clean water was necessary for human beings to survive. Spending some time making a ruckus before finally cracking the nozzle of the water jug, Chance relished in the flavor of clean water. The crisp, cool, water slid down his patched throat like lava. Wincing from the temperature shock, Chance realized he had been running a severe fever.


    Having drunk water, a dizzying, intoxicating, spell struck Chance. The young man staggered towards the remnants of the counter, where the ceiling of the building caved in, ignoring the stench of a group of decomposing bodies. Looking for anything to stop the throbbing in his head, Chance felt about in the shards of tempered glass and plastic. Several rectangular boxes of cigarettes later, Chance finally found some Moltrin Deluxe Pain Relief. Judging from memory, Chance popped the box, the bottle, and downed three 50 milligram pills. As he swallowed the pills, the rasp from a bloodied and dry throat pained him. Relaxing with a few more chugs of water, Chance fell into unconsciousness once again.

 Chapter 7: An Appendectomy

    The heat of his body forced him to writhe on the ground. His mind drifted between hallucinations of skeletal monsters, fleshy aberrations, loathsome creatures of the night, and seductive snakes. The young man felt as if the world was bathing him in a psychedelic drug. Each breath was labored, each roll of his throat brought steam into his stomach, each rasping cough lost him life essence. Chance vaguely saw his mortality.


    In the recesses of the mind, the most primal instinct is to live. The scariest people are the ones who can draw power from the pains of living. In the young man''s mind and body, a flame was lit. An indolent, mottled, fire swayed as he moaned. Pools of sweat collected beneath him. He tripped as he briefly woke, looking at shadows reflecting on walls, seeing demons and devils.


    Chance, really, had a bad time. In the lapse of time between his hallucinations, he glanced upon the gate of the spirit. Unaware of his change, the intuition within Chance told him he would live so long as he bare his teeth and resisted the call of death.


    Looking at the body of the young man as he sprawled on the floor placidly, one could observe tendrils of muscles dividing, combining, and melting beneath his skin. Human mutation was just as painful as animal mutation. People were, primarily, just unaware or ignorant of their new gained conditions.


    As the heat flashes receded, bitter cold set in with the night. The cool winds leaking from the door to the convenience store brought howling whistles. Chance, whose mind was overdrafted due to his change, felt fear towards the unknown ingrained within his bones. He shivered uncontrollably, chuckling when he could, attempting to warm himself. His injured arm, where the bullet once penetrated and escaped, had already begun to reconnect. Small keloid scars like round world lay in the wake of the damage. There was discoloration, like a beet, around the afflicted areas. Signs of infection that could cause complications.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Chance awoke when the sun was glancing the sky. He blinked, having better clarity of his surroundings, before going into sensory overload. Smells struck his mind like the hammering calls of birds a distance away. Distinctly something was different.


    Chance stood with the aid of the broken counter, the weakness he felt now was more pronounced than ever, and attempted to balance himself


    He felt on his body, recovering a sense of self, as he swayed standing. His height, or line of sight, felt slightly different. He felt as if he was standing taller. His body was no longer as fleshy as it previously felt. His muscles were more compact. Where right muscles at his abdomen used to be felt, four large muscles were protected by his obliques. He felt distraught at the thought he was no longer human. Sparked by sudden insight, Chance thought to assure himself if he was even still a man. Luckily, a sea cucumber still lay attached to it''s home.


    Walking towards a large shard of tempered glass from a display case behind the counter, Chance noticed his skin was more thick. He realized his feet where bare from kicking his shoes off during his tussle the night before. Sensitivity to touch remained similar, but the pain from standing on sharp uneven ground was less.


    Looking into the make shift mirror, Chance realized two things. The pain from his change was like an appendectomy, but the changes that were brought about served to enhance his features. He looked as if he came from tempered steel, slightly uneven in places, but strong. He felt as if he had been molded from clay once more and had new breath given to him.


    Aware that his thoughts on mutation had been slightly confirmed, Chance sought to arm himself. He took the glass that he was looking into, duct tape found behind the counter, and a stick he found somewhere and began the process of making a spear.

 Chapter 8: Making do

    Making a makeshift spear isn''t hard. First find a hard, but sharp and pointy, triangular shaped object. Second, find something the triangle shaped object can be attached to. Third find a way to attach said triangle piece to other piece.


    Simple, right? Wrong. If you make a spear like Chance is making, you''ll probably die in most combat scenarios.


    The spear that Chance formed was simple. A plastic pipe from god knows where was cut using a very sharp shard of glass. Then, a thick sharp piece of glass was added to the slot that had been cut in the pipe. Twine made from duct tape then was wrapped around the entire pipe until it covered the slot where the glass had been attached. Next twine was wrapped over the glass, diagonally in an X pattern to provide stability. The spear itself was ugly beyond belief. The durability of the make shift weapon would only last until Chance could create a stone flake spear head with a bone handle version later. The barbarism within his young mind was influenced with the thought to scour protection.


    Chance kept the spear which was as long as his fore arm, and began to exit the store. He scarfed down the food he previously had found and didn''t concern himself with the remaining litter in the broken convenience store. As he approached the shattered door, Chance felt light wash over his skin. His breathing was subtly influenced, becoming longer and more relaxed, as the piercing rays of sunlight quenched his skin.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    "Life is about making do with the situations thrown at you," Chance uttered to himself. "You need ingenuity to continue to thrive."


    Callousness that came from the flames of the soul slowly crept into the young man''s eyes. A dim, milky, white glint could be seen swaying gently in the pupil of the boy. Unbeknownst to him, Chance had stepped on the true path of evolution within this world. Chance made the conviction to control his fate, rather than succumb to it, when he resisted the call of death during the previous night. And, the universe rewards those who are fit to be rewarded.


    Stepping out of the door, Chance liberated himself of his previous persona. Chance embraced his luck at surviving the initial stages of the apocalypse, and walked on oblivious to fortune near by. Though, in his conviction he had left behind a gem of the ages. As shining beneath the rubble near the door, was another survivor''s dead body that held a backpack filled with supplies and two machete, one long slightly bent and one short and thick, underneath the body.

 Chapter 9: Questions

    Having left the convenience store, Chance was at a literal and proverbial cross road. He could continue to the right, leading deeper into the city and rummage through the rubble, or double back to the left and exit into the burgeoning forest.


    The question that lingered the most on his mind was the value of either action. Having seen a forest sprout up infront of his old apartment complex skewed Chances thoughts. Figuring that if a forest could seemingly grow over night that there would be further opportunities that grew along with it. Chance hesitated no more. He walked, retracing his steps, in the direction of the forest.


    His body moved more agilely after the change. A refreshing cool wind appeared within his diaphragm with each breath. His legs also felt like iron rods, stsked within the ground, even when on uneven flooring. Feeling experimental, Chance began to throw his center of gravity around he walked.


    Bad idea.


    Within a few steps, Chance loosed a rock in the rubble he walked on. An avalanche of tumbling stones almost took him away, down into a ravine that lead to the sewers. Deep pungent smells waft in the young man''s nose. What ever was in the sewers, he didnt want to find out.


    The leaky sound of condensation falling crept into his ears at times. If he focused, Chance could reconstruct images of the world around him based on the sounds he heard. He felt as if he was a bat, collecting information with the slightest movement of his ears, and a hound from the distinct smells his nose now picked up on.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    Largely, the least affected point of his body seemed to be his nerves. Though his body reacted in a more streamlined way to stimuli, more instinctively, Chances total reaction speed was relatively the same. In order for him to reach, Chance needed to perceive a threat towards him.


    Much like in the incident with the sewers, Chance would allow his instinct to control him as stress dictated. To him, his life preservation skills came from a primal form. Conscious decision making would slow the process down, and instinctively Chance knew that over thinking his circumstsnce would be killing himself.


    He reached the location where Charles had died. A porous skeleton lay in the aftermath. Chance regarded that skeleton with rapt attention. Small white mushrooms littered the bones, feeding from them, and turning them to soil. Chsnce watched as the wind took some of the mushrooms into the air. He half wamted to touch them, but doom hung in the bsck of his mind.


    Turning a blind eye to the fungi, Chance held himself in higher regard. He recalled the conversation Charles had with him. He recalled his adamant proclamation wanting to be better than a God.


    Chance stood with his back like a spear, and ventured further on, not looking back. The regal, animal, air coagulated in his steps. Slightly haunching with each rhythmic tap of the soles of his feet on the moist ground. He walked on past all distractions. When he passed the ruins of his home, he looked at the rubble. His will wavered before the memories of family, but a cool flame severed the last trace of potential mortal bond in his body. He told himself, ''I wont be crushed under the weight of the world. I''ll be the god that moves the world.''