The room smelled of raw sewerage and vomit. Signs of struggle decorated the walls and floors as broken glass became floor and blood became splatted wall paint. Deep breathing and panting became deafening in the face of otherwise utter silence and eerie calmness. Windows were shattered, furniture was crushed, objects were scattered. In the mist of this chaos there he stood... illuminated by thin rays of natural light fighting their way through wall cracks. He stood with his head held high. He stood with a smile. Admiring. Proud.
The strange man looked of about 30, red messy hair and beard, plaid shirt which at this moment was covered in dots and splashes of wet blood red, torn blue jeans, and brown boots. His right hand held a bat warped with barbed wire with chunks of flesh stuck within wide crevices. His left arm was adorned with deep scars, scabbed wounds, and fresh cuts all in clean lines following each other like standing dominoes. He looked up, closed his eyes, inhaled, then smiled a big smile. At his feet the deep panting was slowing. A body laid in front of him, head bashed in, blood everywhere. Next to the tiny body laid a helmet, two rugged firearms, a bag containing who knows what, and a book entitled: "The Human Race: A Waste." The red haired man waited as the breaths at his feet became fainter and fainter. He waited until the child exhaled his struggled last breath before he took a small knife from his pocket, added a line into his arm, picked up the bag, took from it a pack of gum from the front pocket, shoved it in his mouth, kicked the door open, and walked out.... Outside: A dead world. A zombie apocalypse................
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