We are the children that time forgot.
We are the children that death never leaves.
We are the children of the apocalypse.
No matter how strong we are or how hard we hold onto each other, one by one we all fall down.
And I will go last, not because I’m stronger or smarter or more deserving.
I’ll go last, I know, because I love the hardest.
This rag-tag little family that I’ve stitched together over months and years is my life now. Keeping them alive is my only goal, and I’ve failed at every turn.
And I know, deep in my soul, that I will be the last one to go.
Because watching each one of them slip through my fingers is my own special version of hell.
And what would the end of the world be, really, without the ultimate horror of losing everything?