By: Melissa Zhao

I walk through the empty halls, alone. Every step echoes off the halls and reverberates around me, singing like a ghost coming back to life. The potted plants decorating the halls were once bright and beautiful, but after being deserted, they are now black and wilted after days of barely holding on. A single drop of water falls on my head as I walk forward by myself. Alone.

I sit down on the dry, parched floor. Its jagged cracks run through what once used to be smooth as marble. It was polished every day, so shiny and bright, in fact, that it blinding. And along with not being able to see, I would slip and fall. My whole body would hurt for days afterward. But now? Don’t I miss the days when my biggest worries were slipping on the bright floor at school instead of a bigger concern. Surviving.

Now I am blinded, not by the floor but my memories. Bright, searing, painful memories that push me forward to keep me from falling into the past. Every time I remember, I want to cry, scream, and laugh at the same time. It fills me with longing and sadness, happiness and anger, but it is my encouragement.

Three weeks ago, there was a massacre. But not the normal massacre that targets a single group. These people – if they were people – were aiming to exterminate the world. Why, I will never know. What I remember from that day is the screaming. The world was painted red as I ran and ran, faster and faster, until I found a safe hiding spot: a small, potted plant just big enough for me to squeeze into, because I’m, as my parents used to call me, a “tiny human.” I was horrified. Every minute passing by was a small victory by itself, and the sounds outside were terrifying. Screaming, yelling, begging for mercy, it was all there, until I couldn’t take it anymore and stuffed my fingers into my ears. I curled up into a ball and cried until I couldn’t cry anymore, and when I felt like I would choke if I cried any more, there was only quiet. The deadly type of quiet.

No one found me. When I came out, the world looked, well, clean. There were no traces of any of the horrors that just happened except for one fact: No one was there. My parents, Ellie, my older sister, Arijie, my best friend, and most importantly, the creatures that put all their effort in wiping out our beautiful world. All gone.

I went back to my house and grabbed all our money. I knew it had no use anymore, but it felt good to be prepared for anything. I didn’t feel like living in a house anymore, especially where I used to live with the people I loved the most. I packed a bag full of enough money to last a couple of years. Along with money, I packed food, water, a very small tent, mini pillows, and a fuzzy blanket.

For a week, I was depressed. I barely ate and drank. I spent my nights counting the stars, unable to fall asleep. After a week of horrible depression I met another survivor, and we stayed together for a week. His name was Arthur. He had dark, wavy, black hair, bright green eyes, and a beautiful but sad laugh I only heard once. We became very close, talking, crying, counting the stars, and doing everything together. However, Arthur had it harder than me. He had to see his family die in front of his eyes without being able to do anything. He was permanently marked by grief and anger. I barely held him together, did all I could, but he let go and gave up. The last thing he said to me was, “Don’t give up like I did, Ebnia. Don’t let go. I love you like a sister. Please,” he gathered all his strength, “Live on for all of us.” His last words. I cried for hours afterward, my only friend in this new, desolate, world, gone. His laugh, his love, which pulled me up, gone.

The most I could do was to give him a proper funeral, which I did while thinking of giving up too. However, after the two weeks, I felt a zing of determination along with a wave of hunger, to which I responded by running down to the nearest store and eating as much as I could, while dropping a couple of bills on the counter. Even though there was no reason to it still felt good to pretend things were normal.

I was not caught, and I won’t live the rest of my life depressed. Life might be different now, right? It’s just a change. I won’t let go like the other person. I’ll survive and live through it. Every time I start sinking into sadness and memory, I tell myself, “Don’t do it for yourself. Live for the others.” For Mom and Dad, Ellie, Arijie, and Arthur.

My family and friends, I love you. You were my light, and you still are. Live the life of your dreams up in the clouds. Live the life you couldn’t have in the real world. I have to move on now. I have my own life to live.

I’ll see you up there. I know you’re watching me.