End It, Because It's Over

Have you ever truly felt alone? So alone it was driving you insane. No one to talk to, no one to comfort you, no one to just be there, or to just acknowledge your presence. You went mad, mad until you committed suicide from the insanity.



What year was it now? Time passed excruciatingly slow when there was no one to spend it with. Sometimes it’s hard to remember your own name when you haven’t heard anyone say it in so long. Olivia Berkley. That was one of the very few things that I did remember.
The president was schizophrenic, who knew. Apparently the voices inside his head told him to end it, end the world. Everyone was terrified and in tears. Wondering what they had done to deserve this; and they had done nothing they were innocent. It was just a chain reaction, a bunch of small incidents. They add up. What I’m curious about? How could anyone just let this happen? How could anyone just give a single insignificant human so much power? I hate it. I loathe anyone who made the mistake of trusting such a man.

And he gave in, into all the weaknesses around him. Into the unreal voices demanding him to end billions of innocent lives for no reason at all. He had said the voices told him we were all against him and that all we wanted was for him to die. I mean most people thought he didn’t make a very good president but wouldn’t want him dead. I didn’t care much for him being such a young child, but growing up I learned it was easiest to blame him. To blame him that I’m completely alone now.

I’m not sure how but within moments of his speech it was all over. And when I say it I mean everything ever from the beginning to the end. Every existence; every bit of evidence that Earth was ever a planet. Absolutely anything and everything. Fortunately it ended quickly, so no one would feel pain, except the ones who survived. Which was only me? This all happened in the year of 2008, supposedly a good year. I was four years old.

I was so young… my parents hid my somewhere I can’t remember where or what it was. But it was cramped and wet; and the smell made me positively sick to my stomach. I saw tears in their eyes for the very first time and it hurt, it hurt to see them that way. Without bright smiles on their faces while Mom made dinner in her classic pink frilly apron and Dad propped his feet on the table while doing some kind of calculations for his job. A very normal, American family I had. I had a brother too. He was younger than me. It truly pains me that I can’t remember their names; Mom, Dad, and Brother don’t exactly count as very good names.

Going to the place that I called home wasn’t the best idea but now I was very curious about what day and year it really was.


It took three hours to search through all the old newspapers and calendars. It was April 2, 2020. Twelve years have passed. I’m sixteen years old as of today. So much for a Sweet Sixteen. No one to celebrate it with anyway. I walked over to the aged mirror and looked at my sad excuse for a reflection. I had grown paler, and my once extravagantly beautiful green eyes had dulled. I thought back to how luscious and bright my blonde hair had once been, it was now straw in my hands. On top of this I was becoming very thin; I hated to look at myself it reminded me too much.

I knew I shouldn’t but I decided to look out the window and see what was left of my beautiful Manhattan New York. I winced when I saw all of the demolished buildings and overgrown plants. Words could not describe the picture now painted in my head.

I have more to come.