Aftermath Novels & Stories

I didn’t have the energy to make decisions. Of course, pre-gaming happened in his room. Lights off, music up and cups filled. Any number of pre-game activities could go down. There was dancing, rapping, singing, and making videos while we got to a state of mind where being around a bunch of people felt good instead of overwhelming. My grief and his PTSD made a great pairing.

The little pup groaned but did as I have commanded her. I sat on the log and watched her do her exercises. Even though we argue each day, I’m so proud of her. As I said, it has been ten years since I found her sitting in a puddle of her parent’s blood, eyes wide and mouth open in a silent scream. She was watching the stupid ones, the human zombies or the infected, eating them. And since that day, she didn’t say a word. I taught her sign language. My mother was one of those Asl teachers and she forced dad and me to learn it.

I turned to check out the environment and was pleased with the place immediately. The place is called a bush bar, it's made with palm trees, like kind of a garden, I have seen something like this back home in Kenya and it always gives me this Africa origin vibes. There was a stage for a liveband and a female beautiful singer was already singing a beautiful high life song which was so calm, having an Africa story attached to it.

--- The Aftermath When light returned, the universe was quieter— not empty, not broken, Just calm. The Living Moons glowed again, their light tempered with stillness. Every sound that followed carried weight, meaning, patience. Seren looked to Lunara. “We didn’t destroy it.” Lunara smiled faintly. “No. We made peace with it.” Nareth crossed his arms, his flame now gold at the edges. “So even silence has a song.” “Yes,” Lunara said, looking to the horizon. “And it will remind us that not every pause is an ending.”

She clutched her stomach protectively, feeling the presence of a life growing within her. One Month Later Over the course of the past month, Lena's well-being suffered greatly due to the agonizing separation she experienced. Tears became a constant companion, and she sought solace in visits to Chinatown, where she could breathe in the familiar presence of her mother and sister. The toll on her overall health, as well as that of her unborn child, was so obvious. Deeply wounded and filled with a profound sense of confusion, Lena found herself questioning the cause of the end of her once loving relationship with Jayden.

I noticed only the approaching, blinding light, and I closed my eyes, not wanting to witness my entry into the afterlife, if this indeed was heaven and I was truly gone. "Celeste!" I froze. My heart rate slowed. When I reopened my eyes, I was left speechless as Arik stood before me, swiftly removing the bomb strapped to my body along with the chains. I saw and heard him commanding his men to defuse the bomb outside, and I spotted the black Ford Raptor behind him, its high beams casting a brilliant glow. I wasn't dead. I was still here. "Oh, God. Fuck it!"

After I died, I was unable to cut my ties with the mortal world and turned into a spirit that stayed by the side of my wife, Lori Levaine. Wailing was heard in the hospital's corridors. Just an hour ago, a fatal car accident happened on a major bridge over the river in the city. Dozens of cars had slammed into each other. It was a gruesome sight. Every doctor in the city rushed over to save lives, including Lori. I tried my best to hold back the gurgling blood in my throat as I lay in a pool of blood. I felt relieved the moment I saw Lori.

Too long. She changed the subject. When she returned home later that afternoon, the apartment greeted her with its usual immaculate quiet. She dropped her keys into the bowl by the door and kicked off her shoes, the sound echoing louder than it should have. Her phone buzzed. Unknown Number: Hey, Jordan. It’s Calloway. I’m back in town. Her breath caught. For a moment, she just stared at the screen, her pulse loud in her ears. Calloway Rhys.

she’d collected, and James and I stood in the kitchen with our arms around each other and didn’t say anything for a long time because sometimes peace doesn’t need words, it just needs presence, and we had that, we had so much of that it overflowed. Later that night I opened my sketchbook and wrote three words at the top of a new page, not “Freedom” this time, not “Home,” just “After After,” because that’s where we are now, after the survival, after the healing, after the fear, living in the part of the story where the good things happen and keep happening and you stop waiting for them to end.

I wrote about how I had given up a billion-dollar cash reward, and how I had drained every last luck point from my own system account to exchange for the chance for her to stand again after the car accident that had paralyzed both her legs. After finishing the letter, I packed all our old photos into a cardboard box and erased the last traces of my life in this house. [Death countdown: 10, 9, 8...] The countdown entered its final ten seconds. I fell onto the carpet beside the sofa. It felt as though my organs were being shredded by countless blades. My face remained cold as I endured the agony. I vomited mouthful after mouthful of black blood, instantly staining the pure white carpet Victori