The World One Year After the Pandemic Duaa Ben Salem Libyan-International School Of Stavanger, Norway (3rd Place)
I knew this was going to happen eventually, but I never thought it would happen this fast. It’s 6 am sharp. A ring sounds from the other room. A little hustling, a click, and the ringing stops. A flickering light illuminates my face as I stare into the wide-open, grimy, yellowing, empty fridge. We've run out of food. It’s been about a year since the virus made its first appearance in the bustling, overcrowded city of Manhattan. Things started off slow. Enough for people to notice - not enough for anyone to panic. It Infected anyone in near proximity but never showed any symptoms, this terminal virus spread quickly yet soundlessly. Slithering, sneakily amidst the crowds, just like a snake, taking innocent people’s souls and leaving none behind. It was like you were playing a game of tag, but this came with a twist; you didn’t know you were playing and you only found out you were playing once it was too late. No one really paid any attention to it. Besides, there were only a couple of people infected, what’s the worst that could happen, right? Wrong. At first, people started to randomly disappear. They were found dead with no apparent cause or explanation. As the death rate increased, suspicion rose amongst the public, and rumours about a deadly virus became the wide-spread topic of discussion throughout the entire city. Eventually, these rapidly-spread theories reached newspaper outlets and quickly flooded the media. Once the panic settled, reality hit everyone like a slap in the face. It became clear this virus was not going anywhere any time soon. No one was safe. Everyone was in a frenzy, stocking up on food and necessities. It was as if the world was ending, but the thing is - it actually was. The virus killed anyone who got infected, it was final, but scientists started to notice something. A select few were immune. The Earth had become completely broken, it slowly grew more and more silent as the time went by, and as people started to disappear. Abandoned houses lined the deserted streets, shuddering with loneliness, mourning for their owners’ return. Echos of laughter from the children who once lived there and the gentle hum of the music that was once played there became only a whistle in the wind. Memories were left etched into the wooden walls. Subtle scratches, each telling their own story, were engraved in every nook and cranny. Furniture became rundown, although it remained untouched, it slowly grew a thick, musty layer of dust almost like a tent. Playgrounds became dilapidated. They fell to crumbs, overtaken by the greenery growing in its place that crawled out like a shelled snail who knew it was finally safe to come out. The only people left are the immune now. We mainly consist of young people. Before you knew it, there were only a couple of us left. No adults to tell us what to do, no one to keep us in control. The rest of us slowly, but surely, transformed into ruthless animals, only caring for ourselves and our trusted ones. It was the new way of life, brutal but mandatory. Separated and formed into gangs, we were left off to fend for ourselves in whatever is left of what we call Earth.
Yet civilization still went on, but division took place instead. People divided into groups; life didn’t seem worth it anymore. It was like a cycle. Doing the same thing every day. Hoping and praying something would change. It became harder and harder every day as whatever hope was left inside us was diminished, completely torn to shreds by our ever-growing fear of living the rest of our lives like this. Trapped in our own minds, life became a prison. A death sentence. Our cells were getting smaller and tighter by the minute while our claustrophobic fears were getting bigger in retaliation. We have no choice but to keep going, continue moving, and hustling. Life must go on, there is no other way to do this. We’ve run out of food. We’ve run out of food. We’ve run out of food. These trips would usually last about a week, sometimes two. It’s been a month. A month since Oliver and the others went to restock our food supply. Whenever we start to go low on food, we send a group of people to go loot a grocery store. Preferably an empty one. Any contact with the other gangs means death and I’m afraid they may have had an encounter with one of them. I’ve tried to get my mind off it, tried to run away from the thought, but I can’t help but worry about him. I’ve begged the others to consider getting help, send a team to search for them, but every time I mention anything I get shut down by the same exact words. “It’s too dangerous.” We have no choice but to go and look for them now, either that or we starve. “It’s empty,” I call out. I hear a bit of hustling; some steps being taken and the door opens wide. “Well?” “Well? Do you want us to starve? Or have you forgotten about Oliver and the others? It’s been a complete month Becca. A whole month. They’re either dead or they need our help and you know it.” Her eyes widen when I mention Oliver. Then finally, sighing, she says, “OK, okay. Fine, fine, we’ll go,” she looks me straight in the eye, “tell the others to get ready. Now.” We should’ve done this weeks ago. I’m staring out the car window looking at the ashy, grey, clouds while fumbling with my fingers in an attempt to contain my rising anxiousness. The ride was calm for the most part, people quietly initiating conversations as we ride around the abandoned, silent, streets. I see a big sign displaying the grocery store as we pull up in the driveway. Polar opposite memories collide against each other when I recall the moments of me passing by and grocery shopping here a year ago. A clean, lit-up sign lighting the sky, trying to attract as many customers as it can, now left completely useless. We quickly get out of the car, and scurry to the grocery store doors, entering warily still trying to make sure we’re alone. As silence fills up the place, all 6 of us simultaneously decide it’s safe to look around. “Oliver?” Kai, another person from the group calls out. No reply. Nothing. “Um, is he even here?” Ashlyn murmurs from the back, “like do we know for sure? We should just get the food and go.” Everyone all turns around. “What?” she shrugs, “I’m just here for the food”
A subtle rustling noise comes from the corner of the aisle. We all go dead silent as we realize we aren’t alone and it’s definitely not Oliver. My heartbeat quickens in an instant. This is bad. Really bad. When I see a black figure rush quickly from the corner of my eye, I know we’ve been caught. I scan the whole place only seeing the 5 other people I entered with doing the exact same thing. It feels as if we are completely frozen in the moment. Time slows down as I hear a gun click and feel the hard muzzle of the gun get pushed to my head. I can’t think, everything inside my brain feels jumbled up, nothing seems to make sense anymore. What’s happening? I hear a gunshot right before someone in the room lets out a scream, but I can’t tell who. Everything goes pitch black. I can’t see. I can’t think. I can’t breathe.