# Writing > Short Story Sharing >  Apocalypse Please! A DOOMSDAY STORY!

## michaelsbearre

Here is a quick doomsday type story. It has a little bit of telling and here is the first write. For those who read the Asylum, I am about to re-write that piece and edit the original. So keep tuned!

Apocalypse Please.

A thundering clash, the last thing I recall. Awakening from this disorientated haze, I open my eyes to see a world shrouded in misery. Everywhere my eyes dare to tread, I cringe at the sight of smoldering buildings and the scent of wild fire trespassing unto my nose. Many structures barely stand while many more are nothing less than a heap of rubble; I clinch my fists and grind my teeth in shear horror. 

They said an attack would come, but I didnt believe them. As my sight gazes upon the remains of what use to be New York City, I glare upon the heavenly skies to see something strange. Something I have never seen before. A honey sky tainted with debris and ash, all making their slow decent upon the earth. Fire consumes the forest behind me, and in this trance, I wonder why did I survive? My family

Oh no, my family. 

Gripped from this bitter haze and throwing myself into reality to face the dangers before me, I see remains of my crumbled home surrounding me. How I survived the blast, I do not know. 

As for my wife and daughter, they must have survived. They must have. I waste no time and spare no strength I can muster to sift through the crumbled house. For the things I cannot lift such as the walls which collapsed within the home, I listen; for a wheeze, a single breath or cry. 

As I wait, all I hear is the crackles of an ember riddled forest. Bits and pieces of what use to be home, fluttering in the wind, carried off by a persistent gust making my search for my loved ones impossible. It circulates the heat and scolding embers of my burning home, and as my fear grows, I see and hear no one. 

Each wandering ember, making its mark upon my flesh as they scold and burn, I care not for myself and relentlessly search the modest circumference of my home. Its just a typical cookie cutter home. 

As the heavens above crackle and thunder with echoes of bombs falling in the distance, I realize my time is short. Mildly squinting and peering off into the skies, I shudder at the sight of two more planes erupting from the growing clouds of ash and debris. 

Theyre not our own American fighters, and knowing this I turn my back to the invading beasts to bare witness to a horror I wished I had never seen. 

My daughter.

My love. 

In all my life, the wind in my lungs has never become so heavy, never have I begged that this reality is just a dream. Peering closer and falling to my knees, I listen to the invaders fast approaching. Their engines, all I can hear as they zoom by. 

Am I dead? A shattering voice softly whispers unto me. The angelic voice of my wife. Still alive. With each crackle of her waning words that gurgles with blood and pain, I crawl closer to her charred corpse buried beneath a heavy wall. 

My daughter, wrapped within her grip and lifeless, I weep as I hear a bomb whistling towards me. For what seconds remain, our time is short but seems like eternity. Ever so softly, I brush my hand across her crackling cheek, every tear, a hollowed memory of our family. 

Every word hanging on my tongue, I struggle to say.
ItsIts okay baby. I regret to say as my composure crumbles. With each passing second, my hand grazes her charcoaled flesh as her eyes stare into my own. A reminder of the love we shared, all brought to an end over a pitiful war. 

Our little girl? She okay? I cant move. She softly whispers as her life begins to fade and I hear my whistling death come closer. Gazing upon my daughter to see the same fate she suffered, I fail to accept the truth. 

Dont worry baby. I got her outta the house just in time. For what little comfort I can give, I lie knowing she knows the truth. Gnight baby. I whisper as I lay my head atop her burning corpse waiting for the last bomb to come.

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