Entry 1
Hindsight is a concurrent blessing and burden. A concoction of regret and learning, achieved as if bitting into the apple of knowledge. Regrets which lead oneself to wish, pray and plead for a second chance. Regrets that fuel the undying desire to turn back the page. Regrets that create a yearning to re-live a single moment. Learning that can change the very fabrics of the future. Learning that changes ones very life by design. A deathly mixture, by acting together, now holds a people at ransom.
A whole country, nay the entire world and all its inhabitants now sit in hindsight. A collective prayer for a second chance that will never come cries out across the globe. This is it. This is the end. There will be no tomorrow, nor a happy ending. Our book has reached its sudden and final conclusion. This is my goodbye.
Our greatest weakness has been to blame. Man’s endless greed. Our ever increasing desire fuelled the engines of darkness. This was man’s unquenchable thirst, our ravenous demand for eternal satisfaction.
As repeated throughout history, with each stage of human advancement, the fires for greed burnt ever brighter as each newfound luxuries drove our cravings.
Humans, who for years have burdened an already ageing earth, continued to place stresses on unsustainable surroundings. An irreversible devastation of natural resources, weakened the ecosystems, and placed world systems under an unassailable amount of pressure. Slowly our greed segregated once close allies, divided a people and caused worldwide civil war. Greed quietly fuelled racist hate, igniting the tempers of world leaders. The snowballing effect led to an inevitable conflict. Reminiscing of the later 1900s, threats of nuclear war immerged, with the now unavoidable holocaust set to wipe out all humanity.
We must take responsibility for our actions, for our hand has never been forced. Our insolvable hunger has been our downfall. Mankind’s greed will be forever vanquished at last, as we enter a new age of Armageddon, in a case of pure irony.
Men and women, daughters and sons, grandfathers and granddaughters are spending their last dying moments together. Huddled together, they sit praying to their many gods for salvation.
Here I sit attempting to write a story. With little else to do, perhaps it will help make the time pass easier. If nothing else it will help ease my heavy heart. This story marks the final fall of man.
Entry 2
My name is John Gareth, I am 17. Young, you may say, but mature enough to have seen the signs. The following is my attempt to document the final fall of man, and my last act to say goodbye to the world that we have grown into, loved and abused.
As recently as last few months I was planning my life. I was to be a business man, I was to have a family, and I was to have a life. Empty dreams that now lay unfulfilled. My path suddenly vanished under my feet. I now stand lost, stationary in the story of life. Here I remain, waiting for the inevitable happen.
I sit in an underground repurposed fallout shelter. Deep within the earth, little optimism remains. The stench of death and stale forlorn hope surrounds me. We may survive the bombs, but there is no hope surviving the nuclear winter. I sit in anger, my face contorted in a rage at the people that have gone before me. What could one man do against billions starved by the evils of greed?
The world has been built on gluttony, on the powers of segregation and control. A hierarchal society established to bully the little guy. The man made culture demanded everything from the hardworking diminutive worker, as society watched forever asking for more. A society that slowly pushed the sunken man back into the wall, and like a rat in the corner he pounced. This has been our ultimate end, as it is the time when the little guy had finally had enough.
The little guy could have been one of many countries that have suffered under the influence of the capitalistic big wigs. The first to retaliate in reality was Honduras. Honduras who has sat quiet, abused and ignored for years. Honduras, who as a nation, had for years had been spat upon and mocked in all fields of international negotiation. Multinational corporations from England and the United States constant drive for ever better profit margins abused the peaceful nation. Money, the true power of the world, managed to suck every last resource out of the limited country in South America.
Years of ill-treatment and poverty pushed the Honduras government into a corner, surrounded on all sides by debt and suffering. And like a rat, the government snapped into action, acting as the proud people they were before being reduced to slaves.
Not known for its military might, Honduras had very little in terms of nuclear capacity. It was not the size of which was deadly, but the coordinated attacks which hurt most. Honduras used their armada to target key strategic positions, sending 5 fully operational nuclear warheads to major cities throughout Europe and the United States.
In response, worldwide failsafe programs initiated. Over the coming weeks, nuclear warheads took to the skies, in the first truly global act. A worldwide retaliation sent thousands upon thousands of tons of explosive death across the world. Honduras had sent the snowball on its path, its inevitable decent preordained as it quickly gains size and speed.
Looking back, the signs were clear. Together we should have found the solution. Together we should have acted. Now we sit doomed, knowing that there is nothing left to do but wait.
Entry 3
It all started on a sunny afternoon, I believe it was a Thursday. Mere weeks ago I suspect. Life has already changed so much…
It was your typical winter’s day. As per usual many people were rugging up, trying to cover themselves from the cold. These people were sluggish in their daily grind, trying to milk every minute off work. School lessons had begun to blur together as boredom was replaced by an everlasting longing for the day to end.
As Countless millions now lie dead, and as many more suffer, the world is eternally willing for their days never to end. It’s quite ironic isn’t it, the old saying ones man rubbish, is another man’s treasure. Such a saying has never held so much meaning before.
The bell rung, brains switched on and the day finally started at 3pm sharp. All over school, groups were meeting up to get on with the few hours of freedom they get each day. Armed to my teeth in homework, it appeared that my sovereign liberty demanded homework took priority. Slowly I climbed onto the bus, making my way through the years as I took my rightful seat with my peers at the back. This is where life became interesting, where the world of yesterday stopped. It was this point at time that marked the beginning of the end. It must have been about 3:15.
National cell phone reception was cut, the first of many luxuries lost. By the time I got off the bus, armed soldiers had begun to take to the streets. I noticed many roads were now blocked. Citizens took to rioting, demanding to hear answers. Society had fallen into total anarchy. Chaos was the king of the streets. This was barely the beginning.
My family sat huddled around the television, as emergency news channels reported the events occurring across the globe. Horrible explosions flashed across the screen. The unmistakable mushroom clouds of nuclear weaponry were being broadcast live across the world. Every channel showed death and true suffering as the nuclear holocaust began.
As my family sat around the television, we still held onto a sense of false hope. Our biggest fear was that of the unknown. As I hold onto what remains of my family, we sit in acceptance of our guaranteed death, only comforted by the thoughts that we have survived this far.
Entry 4
It’s crazy to think how quickly civil manner was lost. Days had progressed slowly as each moment was a struggle to survive. Nights were often spent sleepless, as scavengers took to the streets. Days were spent avoiding rioters, sticking to the shadows and surviving.
There were no longer rules. Rumours spread that the government had been lost and disbanded. Society collapsed. Moral values, etiquette and respect were ignored as savagery took over. Strength and fear took the places of intelligence and respect. The festering wound of greed had poisoned society. As civilised life began to decay, its stench affected the lives of the living.
Food stocks began to run out and life returned to survival of the fittest. The strongest survived and the weak perished. My brother and I became salvagers, searching through ruinous towns for scraps to eat. Each moment a struggle, each day a battle, this began our war of survival.
Nearing death, my brother and I were able salvage some stale bread. We had broken into a vandalized bakery, already ransacked by salvagers come before us. The only thing we found was a rock solid loaf of bread. No one complained as we devoured the bread, careful not to waste any scraps. We hadn’t eaten for days and were nearing a point of delusion.
Nothing had ever tasted so good. The sawdust like bread melted in my mouth. Explosions of taste fuelled the fires of my memory, of family meals shared and good times had. It is amazing how much assurance a full stomach can give you. Hope slowly returned with each mouthful, that when the sun finally set the night would be a little less dark that evening.
Having succumbed to mere scavengers, life after the bomb had descended into mayhem. Slowly mankind turned on each other, renegade groups became the policemen and strength became the law of the land. Friends and family dynamics broke down, relationships were lost and a people reverted to animal savagery.
In retrospect, this stands as a mere taste of what would become. A clear warning of what the future held. This was a time when I still held hope, a time when I thought that humanity could withstand. I still believe that we could rebuild, learn from our mistakes and endure.
I look back in envy of how suns comforting embrace warmed my back. There was light at the end of the tunnel.
Now I embrace the darkness, it is my final sanctuary as the bombs continue to drop above, and the inevitable end draws near.
Entry 5
Man’s deterioration has been immense. All hope has long faded. Worldwide communication cut off instantly as the final emergency broadcast was received in homes throughout Australia. We were unmistakably alone. The true nature of the situation had hardly sunk in until then. The comforts of home life were finally over.
This was the true end of the world as we knew it. Each day was my eternal damnation.
Sydney was utter mayhem. Bodies lined the streets. Fires burnt in the buildings. Glass scattered the sidewalks. Families lay lost, having been long separated. Newly made orphans lay crying, wishing for comfort.
Australia, long being neglected and forgotten by its neighbours, had become somewhat of a testing ground for bombs. New experimental technology and methods of warfare were being tested on Australian citizens. Our only redemption lay in our exemption from nuclear warfare, the bombs at this point not being atomic.
Sleep became increasingly impossibly, as constant barrages of bombs littered the skyline. Days began to blur together as shelter and cover became more difficult to find.
Sleeplessness took over. My decent was at its lowest, and this became my darkest hour. My inner animal took over. My savage instincts forced me to break my last remaining ethical promise. I was truly the creation of the apocalypse. A man reduced to his weakest.
It was during this time I committed the lowest of all sins. I Killed a man. Murder in itself doesn’t account for the true evil that occurred. I lost control, my very soul became absent.
My brother’s death sickened my mind. I sought revenge, I sought justice. I became the savage beast of war.
I struck the first person I came across in an emotional rage. It had been a single man walking innocently down the street. I comfort myself with the thought that perhaps he was not so innocent, as no one is truly is in this new world.
I still remember the way he stared at me with those big green glassy eyes, struggling under my grip as I slowly strangled the life out of him. Under my strength the figure struggled in pain and desperation. As the life left his body, his limbs became limp and motionless. His eyes continued to stare into the depth of my soul, watching and pleading me as I stole his life from him. The clear glassy green became somewhat of a cloudy hazel as the darkness erupted from inside me.
For a time I couldn’t deal with the injustice. I couldn’t live with the beast I had become. I lost myself within my emotions and feelings. I became a creature of the street. I was desperate, alone and lost. I couldn’t return to my family for a period as I dealt with my inner demons.
I only returned after I felt I could do my brother proud. I want to restore the honour to my family name. This was my Holocaust, my genocide. A title fit for a man lost. I was the man losing the fight with himself.
I can’t write any more today, I will continue further in the next part.
Entry 6
I have long since forgotten the sensation of crying. There have been too many tears spilled, too many lives lost. The death of my brother has hardened me, no longer am I a slave to my emotions. I have become the machine, a perpetual engine, soullessly wondering down my eternal walk.
Nightmares of my brother’s death still haunt my dreams. Nightly I live re-live the bloody execution of his life. The hands of greed scratch at his being. Each night I see his body, ripped to pieces, from a crude shrapnel bomb explosion.
His fleshy remains lay scattered throughout what remains of our kitchen. Warm sticky blood drips down the walls and pools on the floor. His bones, like toothpicks, lay shattered. A stench of death fills the room. The centre of the room is cold, as if the void of his existence makes life even icier.
At first I cried, the innocence of my childhood whaled for the love and memory of my brother. My Brother who had supported me when no one else would, he gave me confidence when I had none myself and most of all he laughed with me when all else had given up. In his death he remains the older brother, watching over me and supporting me when everyone else has given up hope. This is why I no longer cry, because like in death, giving up would be the easy option. My brother would like not like me to succumb as a savage.
I will make my brother proud in my final moments, before I meet him in the afterlife.
Entry 7
Quickly, the bombings increased in scale and velocity. Streets almost overnight became uninhabitable. Trying to survive together, and hold some sense of togetherness, the remaining three members of the family adopted a nomadic lifestyle.
Moving around was tolling on my elder parents. As the option for shelter became scarcer, we descended into desperation. Eventually the three of us settled into an underground existence, living in the wide midst of the subway system.
The subway provided somewhat of a sanctuary for some time. Basic comforts meant everything to us, we were able to rest, eat and recuperate without the fear of death on our shoulders. The explosions no longer pressed an immediate concern, instead acting as a muffled reminder of the horrors above.
Slowly, the erratic lifestyle took its toll on my mother. Her body started to give up, her immune system was failing and she fell very ill. It was clear that something needed to change.
After a deep discussion, it was clear that a variation was necessary. Together we drew straws, trying to remain just and fair. Drawing the small straw my father left the group, setting off to find something, anything that was better. I remained behind, to attend to my mother. I spent hours making her as comfortable as possible, hoping beyond hope that she will recover, or gain some of what she used to have.
………………………………………………………………
Hours later my father returned, bruised and exhausted. Collapsing in a heap, father immediately fell asleep. As he lay I tended to his wounds and washed his face.
Later as father woke with a start, he spoke with extreme excitement. It was apparent that his assignment had been a success. Father spoke of a hidden emergency shaft, a vault of sorts, buried deep within the earth’s core. Father spoke of how such a vault could save our lives, how humanity could rebuild and survive together. We had only one thought on our minds from that point onwards, entry into the vault.
Instantaneously our group grew in stature that day. A single ray of hope warmed our hearts. I see this as my own inner point of recovery. I finally left the dark, I was alive with hope. Our group’s mood had clearly changed. We were suddenly excited about living through to tomorrow.
Here we had a single opportunity, and nothing was going to stand in the way. Together, over a couple of days, we carried each other towards the vault. With goal in mind and hope in heart, all three of us made the long climb down into the depths of the earth.
Here we sit, in a makeshift survival vault, built within the remains of an ancient mining system. Above we can hear the bombs dropping ever more, their explosions ever louder, shaking the very core of the earth. We all know together that nuclear warheads will eventually make their way to our shores. Will we survive the fallout? My hope is dwindling. My confidence in my fellow man is fleeting. Here I remain hopeless as the world around my literally crumbles to ash.
Entry 8
I look around the room and feel no emotion. I do not see men and women with me, only cowards, mere shells of their former selves. Already there is uncertainty. A few sit with false hope, holding onto religious values, assured that their faith will save them. Others sit in confusion, wondering what could have been done. Their anger grows with every minute as blame shifts from government to society to one another. The remainder cry, accepting their fate and embracing the darkness that is to come.
We have not learnt our lesson, we remain divided. A people segregated by fear, of unacceptance, and of our destiny.
As the hours pass by my thoughts turn to my surroundings. Together we remain trapped under the earth. Our holdings, that mere months ago, I would have deemed uninhabitable, now stands as our last remaining hope of sanctuary. We are surrounded by 6 inch thick iron, 1000m below the earth’s surface. The air is thick down this deep, and a constant feeling of suffocation engulfs my body.
Since we have arrived I have had the putrid taste of vomit in my mouth, and each passing minute the gagging sensation increases. Each breath we take is more laboured and more forced. I fear we will suffocate down here. My feelings of dread rock my mind as I am reminded of what has yet to come.
My parents huddle together in the corner of the room. I cannot remember my mother ever looking so old; she sits shaken, and has lost all concept of reality. Her mind has finally given up on her, as she struggles to distinguish what is real.
My father remains humble, as he comforts my mother in her final moments. My father has remained true to his values, and true to his person throughout this whole saga. Remaining strong heartened, my father has held onto a salvaged hope of where there appears no faith. My father continues to fight the already lost battle. My father is giving humanity its one last chance at survival. He is their final hero, at the end of time.
Entry 9
This is my first and last story. I may not be much of an author, or have an incredible story to preach. However here I stand, making a record of the final fall of man. I write about the end of the known world. My life, full of potential, has come to an apparent end. I feel no regrets, I have lived and I have loved.
During my final moments I take peace knowing I am not alone, surrounded by the few people that have truly understood me, my true family. I know life won’t ever return to the joys of the past, but can I believe in the rebirth of mankind?
It has happened countless times before, empires may rise and fall but humanity will carry on. If nothing else my life has taught me what it truly means to be man. To truly be a ‘man’ one has to put himself in front of all other people, he has to hate and seek greed in all situations. With my final acts I decide I do not want to be a man in a world like this.
The air has become suffocatingly scarce. It has become too exhausting to move, too hard to escape and continue surviving. All around me people are collapsing in heaps, slowly asphyxiating. With my final breaths I plead to be greater than man, to follow in my father’s footsteps. I am John, historian for the fall of man. This is my final entry. Good luck humanity.
The StoryTeller 