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Description
Write It For Them
The end is near.
That's what I'd say if this was a post apocalyptic novel about zombies, or nuclear war, or something cliché like that. But this isn't about another world war, or mutated, rotting corpses.
It's about something much, much worse.
We are out of apples.
Now you're laughing at my melodrama, at my childish longing for my favorite food. But I'm not kidding. This is quite serious. That was the last of our food. There is no more water. The medicine's all run out. Not even a freaking band aid or Tylenol left to help with our aching bodies.
Now do you realize how serious this situation has become? If you haven't, then get away from me, I won't bother telling my story . This isn't a lighthearted coming of age story, nor is it a romance. Hell, it's not even an action/adventure with a hero . This is real fucking life. No matter what, I can guarantee you won't find me talking about a happy ending.
It all started with a political party.
Oh, you're saying you've got this all figured out, do you? Then tell me, what happened next?
Exactly, you don't fucking know. I don't have time for your shit. Shut up and listen or go back out there and let them get you.
I won't cry when you're dead.
You gonna be quiet?
Good.
As I was saying.
They called themselves the patriots, a transparent attempt to garner support by aligning themselves with the memories of our forefathers and their fight for freedom. Too bad no one bothered to tell them our forefathers got lucky.
Too bad they wouldn't.
The patriot's main goal was freedom from the oppressive, according to them, government. They expected a fight, or at least a political debate. No one paid them much attention. They were fine with that, fine with fighting dirty. Going through the sewers instead of the front door to get what they want, if it meant they wouldn't be noticed.
Then they struck. And it was entrancing. The way they pulled it off had an ironic beauty too it.
they killed the president, killed to pope, blew up the senate while it was in session.
Don't ask me how they did it, I wasn't paying attention. I was young at the time, seventeen or so. More focused on scoring girls and booze then on the political realm, foolishly believing it had nothing to do with me.
But why are you asking about me? This isn't my story.
This is our story.
And it isn't a pretty one.
Anyway, as one would expect, it was chaos. To my seventeen year old mind, it was beautiful. No laws, no cops, no school.
It was a dream about to turn into a nightmare.
And they struck. They encouraged the anarchy. Until the military stepped in, and shot the shit out of everybody.
Every story needs an antagonist. But this one doesn't have one. Nor does it have a protagonist. Just a bunch of crazy fuckers trying to take over what isn't there's to take.
The military was lead by this absolutely brilliant man, who didn't have an ounce of morality. What I mean is, he went to some snooty ivy league, joined to military to appease his mother, and rose through the ranks at a scary speed.
By 'rose through the ranks', I mean that he did anything to get to the top. Money, sex, murder. You name it, he did it. In just twenty years he was effectively running the military. And this was the kind of challenge he yearned for, salivated at the thought of, fucking jacked off to.
So he shot them, and he imprisoned them, and he tortured them.
Like I said, unlike the original patriots, they didn't get lucky.
Without a government holding them back, the military did what military's do best.
They took over. This is where things get kind of crazy.
Everything kind of... went back to normal.
The laws were back, perhaps a bit stricter, the cops were once again terrori- I mean protecting- the citizens. I even went back to school, much to my chagrin. Everything was perfectly... normal . Anyone with a healthy sense of paranoia could sense the inevitable-
Hey, what'd I tell you about interrupting me!
No! what the hell?
No, it's not fucking aliens, god! You think the earth doesn't have enough ways to fuck itself up, that we need aliens to help us out with that?
Shut up and sit back down.
As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted (aliens, really?)
Things went to the dogs. I'm only being semi metaphorical here. The military was doing experiments to make animals into weapons .
Really, they should have learned from all the books and movies. You don't fuck with shit! You don't do experiments! They always come back to  bite you in the ass.
Pun intended.
Like they always seem to do, they mutated.  Threw Darwin's theory that evolution takes thousands of years right out the window, didn't it. Or maybe Darwin was right and we were just getting what we deserved for fucking with mother nature. Our punishment was no joke.
Those dogs bred.  And made little super demon pups.
While, of course, they were adorable, they had none of the domestication bred into their ancestors over the past couple thousand years. In over words, they were rabid. And they got out.
Yes, they did exactly what you think they did. They fucked shit up. I won't bother with the details. Just picture the absolute worst situation possible.
Got it in your head?
Good.  That's what it was like.
Then a bunch of people died .
Including the sadistic bastard that started it all, and most of the soldiers with him, in a failed attempt to stop them.
Civilization hit the pause button. Life took a cigarette break. It was all about surviving, not living.
Most people couldn't handle this.  So they did what any sane person would do, they offed themselves, forfeited before they started the game. I, however, decided it was more noble to go out fighting.
So I fought . And I won.  Then I got cocky. Thought I'd do what they did in the movies, back when they were still being made.
I got a group together, taught them a few fighting moves. Gave 'em each a gun.
In the first fight, a third of the people died. I'm not going into the details, use your imagination.
So I got some more people, taught them a few more moves, gave them better guns, and promised them each a bottle of liquor if they won. I found a smaller group of the pups this time remembering that I'd won against two of them gave me a bit of hope, but the absolute failure of the first battle had washed away most of that. In the second battle, less people died.
Bolstered by the outcome, which wasn't exactly a victory, but as close as we was going to get to one, we got wasted. When I woke up the next morning, my militia, as there was no better word for them, and all the remaining residents of the town in which we were residing were dead.
I had two men left. A guy who spoke only French, and a 12 year old who still cried for his mom at night.
Giving up, I sank into a depression . These being abnormal time, I showed my emotions in abnormal ways. By which I mean, I killed every pup I came in contact with.
We traveled from abandoned town to  abandoned town, wallowing in nostalgia.  As I said, this wasn't a nuclear apocalypse.
Everything looked perfectly normal, making it all the more worse for me, the boy, and the French guy.
I never bothered to learn their names, figuring it would make it hurt less when they inevitably met the same fate as everybody else.
It didn't.
Frenchy was the first. He died fighting a new litter. The boy couldn't take it anymore, and went out on his own. Who the hell knows what happened to him.
That's how I arrived to this part in my story, which is just a smaller segment of our story. That's why I'm telling you this.
I'm sick of this story. Sick of telling it, sick of living it. So now you've got to .
Yeah, you! You're young . You've got people still alive counting on you. I haven't the slightest clue how you managed that, though.
No, don't tell me. I told you, I'm done with this story.
Have fun writing yours.
Yes! you have to write it down. How else will the future generations know what happened?
Don't say that! Don't ever fucking say that. There is going to be a future. I haven't fought all my life for there not to be one.
Now, go stock up on weapons, learn how to fight. And know your enemy.
How the hell hadn't you heard of all this before anyway?
Oh, that makes sense,  I guess the military wouldn't of had enough man power to extend power all the way over there after the fall.
Anyway, I'm heading out.
I'm gonna try to find more apples. If I run into a pup on the way, I just might let it win.
I'm sick of fighting anyway.

Description
Write It For Them
The end is near.
That's what I'd say if this was a post apocalyptic novel about zombies, or nuclear war, or something cliché like that. But this isn't about another world war, or mutated, rotting corpses.
It's about something much, much worse.
We are out of apples.
Now you're laughing at my melodrama, at my childish longing for my favorite food. But I'm not kidding. This is quite serious. That was the last of our food. There is no more water. The medicine's all run out. Not even a freaking band aid or Tylenol left to help with our aching bodies.
Now do you realize how serious this situation has become? If you haven't, then get away from me, I won't bother telling my story . This isn't a lighthearted coming of age story, nor is it a romance. Hell, it's not even an action/adventure with a hero . This is real fucking life. No matter what, I can guarantee you won't find me talking about a happy ending.
It all started with a political party.
Oh, you're saying you've got this all figured out, do you? Then tell me, what happened next?
Exactly, you don't fucking know. I don't have time for your shit. Shut up and listen or go back out there and let them get you.
I won't cry when you're dead.
You gonna be quiet?
Good.
As I was saying.
They called themselves the patriots, a transparent attempt to garner support by aligning themselves with the memories of our forefathers and their fight for freedom. Too bad no one bothered to tell them our forefathers got lucky.
Too bad they wouldn't.
The patriot's main goal was freedom from the oppressive, according to them, government. They expected a fight, or at least a political debate. No one paid them much attention. They were fine with that, fine with fighting dirty. Going through the sewers instead of the front door to get what they want, if it meant they wouldn't be noticed.
Then they struck. And it was entrancing. The way they pulled it off had an ironic beauty too it.
they killed the president, killed to pope, blew up the senate while it was in session.
Don't ask me how they did it, I wasn't paying attention. I was young at the time, seventeen or so. More focused on scoring girls and booze then on the political realm, foolishly believing it had nothing to do with me.
But why are you asking about me? This isn't my story.
This is our story.
And it isn't a pretty one.
Anyway, as one would expect, it was chaos. To my seventeen year old mind, it was beautiful. No laws, no cops, no school.
It was a dream about to turn into a nightmare.
And they struck. They encouraged the anarchy. Until the military stepped in, and shot the shit out of everybody.
Every story needs an antagonist. But this one doesn't have one. Nor does it have a protagonist. Just a bunch of crazy fuckers trying to take over what isn't there's to take.
The military was lead by this absolutely brilliant man, who didn't have an ounce of morality. What I mean is, he went to some snooty ivy league, joined to military to appease his mother, and rose through the ranks at a scary speed.
By 'rose through the ranks', I mean that he did anything to get to the top. Money, sex, murder. You name it, he did it. In just twenty years he was effectively running the military. And this was the kind of challenge he yearned for, salivated at the thought of, fucking jacked off to.
So he shot them, and he imprisoned them, and he tortured them.
Like I said, unlike the original patriots, they didn't get lucky.
Without a government holding them back, the military did what military's do best.
They took over. This is where things get kind of crazy.
Everything kind of... went back to normal.
The laws were back, perhaps a bit stricter, the cops were once again terrori- I mean protecting- the citizens. I even went back to school, much to my chagrin. Everything was perfectly... normal . Anyone with a healthy sense of paranoia could sense the inevitable-
Hey, what'd I tell you about interrupting me!
No! what the hell?
No, it's not fucking aliens, god! You think the earth doesn't have enough ways to fuck itself up, that we need aliens to help us out with that?
Shut up and sit back down.
As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted (aliens, really?)
Things went to the dogs. I'm only being semi metaphorical here. The military was doing experiments to make animals into weapons .
Really, they should have learned from all the books and movies. You don't fuck with shit! You don't do experiments! They always come back to  bite you in the ass.
Pun intended.
Like they always seem to do, they mutated.  Threw Darwin's theory that evolution takes thousands of years right out the window, didn't it. Or maybe Darwin was right and we were just getting what we deserved for fucking with mother nature. Our punishment was no joke.
Those dogs bred.  And made little super demon pups.
While, of course, they were adorable, they had none of the domestication bred into their ancestors over the past couple thousand years. In over words, they were rabid. And they got out.
Yes, they did exactly what you think they did. They fucked shit up. I won't bother with the details. Just picture the absolute worst situation possible.
Got it in your head?
Good.  That's what it was like.
Then a bunch of people died .
Including the sadistic bastard that started it all, and most of the soldiers with him, in a failed attempt to stop them.
Civilization hit the pause button. Life took a cigarette break. It was all about surviving, not living.
Most people couldn't handle this.  So they did what any sane person would do, they offed themselves, forfeited before they started the game. I, however, decided it was more noble to go out fighting.
So I fought . And I won.  Then I got cocky. Thought I'd do what they did in the movies, back when they were still being made.
I got a group together, taught them a few fighting moves. Gave 'em each a gun.
In the first fight, a third of the people died. I'm not going into the details, use your imagination.
So I got some more people, taught them a few more moves, gave them better guns, and promised them each a bottle of liquor if they won. I found a smaller group of the pups this time remembering that I'd won against two of them gave me a bit of hope, but the absolute failure of the first battle had washed away most of that. In the second battle, less people died.
Bolstered by the outcome, which wasn't exactly a victory, but as close as we was going to get to one, we got wasted. When I woke up the next morning, my militia, as there was no better word for them, and all the remaining residents of the town in which we were residing were dead.
I had two men left. A guy who spoke only French, and a 12 year old who still cried for his mom at night.
Giving up, I sank into a depression . These being abnormal time, I showed my emotions in abnormal ways. By which I mean, I killed every pup I came in contact with.
We traveled from abandoned town to  abandoned town, wallowing in nostalgia.  As I said, this wasn't a nuclear apocalypse.
Everything looked perfectly normal, making it all the more worse for me, the boy, and the French guy.
I never bothered to learn their names, figuring it would make it hurt less when they inevitably met the same fate as everybody else.
It didn't.
Frenchy was the first. He died fighting a new litter. The boy couldn't take it anymore, and went out on his own. Who the hell knows what happened to him.
That's how I arrived to this part in my story, which is just a smaller segment of our story. That's why I'm telling you this.
I'm sick of this story. Sick of telling it, sick of living it. So now you've got to .
Yeah, you! You're young . You've got people still alive counting on you. I haven't the slightest clue how you managed that, though.
No, don't tell me. I told you, I'm done with this story.
Have fun writing yours.
Yes! you have to write it down. How else will the future generations know what happened?
Don't say that! Don't ever fucking say that. There is going to be a future. I haven't fought all my life for there not to be one.
Now, go stock up on weapons, learn how to fight. And know your enemy.
How the hell hadn't you heard of all this before anyway?
Oh, that makes sense,  I guess the military wouldn't of had enough man power to extend power all the way over there after the fall.
Anyway, I'm heading out.
I'm gonna try to find more apples. If I run into a pup on the way, I just might let it win.
I'm sick of fighting anyway.