Ebnahs story

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. I can't say I blame them for their migration. The valley shields us mostly from the rain. The tall hills soak up the nuclear fallout like sponges and we live in their shadows. 176 days we've hidden here. Not just from the rain, but the dragon types as well. We call them dragons because they take and destroy, and sit atop their mountain of bodies. They were once people like you and I, but for one reason or another they've chosen to become monsters. I'm not one for poetry but dragons is the best way to put it. 176 days we've lived in fear, scared of our shadows and the candles flicker.

The dragon types don't get along well. They're savages in every sense of the word, modern day Neanderthals. They come in one by one to our home with bloodthirst and mania. Bloodthirst of the literal kind. Ever since the rain became undrinkable, the rivers flooded with acid and nuclear fallout, it bred a certain type of soldier. Men, women and children that survive on the blood of others. You can now see why they don't get along.

It wasn't a surprise when the bombs dropped. The superpowers had been feuding for years before it happened. Up rises in the poorest of countries and nationalism in the richest. It was only a matter of time before it all came crashing down. My brothers and sisters saw it coming, and that's when we started digging. Our little hole in the earth we call home. I don't mean my literal brothers and sisters, they are long dead. Our family of twenty one men and women are as close as it gets. We sleep together, eat together and drink together. We'll do anything to protect our home.

I write this because I want a record of what we accomplished. I feel pride in this place, a greater pride than I've ever felt before. I feel pride in my brothers and sisters, of who they've become. Before the bombs dropped we gathered as much food and water as we could. We know our days are numbered, the supplies are dwindling. Soon enough we will be forced to the overworld. We won't last long after that.

My brothers and sisters are hopeful, but I've always been a pessimist. I put on a brave face in their company but behind close doors I am racked by dread and fear. It's only natural. Between the dragons, the rain and the cold, it's not feasible. 'We have to try,' they say, and try we will.

It's day 235. We fled our home with nothing but the clothes on our back and this book in my pocket. By the grace of God we found this place. What once was a service station now stands as a concrete safe haven for me and my brothers and sisters. Too far from any city or civilisation, it was spared from the sporadic looting of terrified civilians holding onto their lives by a vice grip. They were often too late. All food and water was taken by prophets such as ourselves. We don't revel in our wisdom, we're too overcome by survivors guilt.

We can't stay here for long. The supplies are limited and places like these are easy pickings for the dragons. We might as well have targets on our backs. Unlike our old home we don't have the pleasure of the heat lent by the earth. We're burning what was left of the shelves, the doors and whatnot. I wouldn't be able to tell you what season we're in, nor does it matter. It's all the same unforgiving cold.

We pass the time by sharing stories of old. We'd sit by the burning doors and reminisce about the food we used to eat, the songs we used to sing and the people we loved. The night would begin with laughter but often end in tears. The memories is what fuelled us. The dream of bringing back what once was, but we all knew it was just that. A dream.

When we ran out of the stories to tell we'd drown in miserable silence. Disturbed only by icy winds and brutal rainfall. It was nothing short of a miracle all twenty one of us were still alive, but I knew that it wouldn't stay that way for long. Between the maddening silence and the deathly conditions, if the elements didn't take our lives they'd surely take our own.

I'd be kidding myself if I hadn't thought of it. A body filled with perfectly clean blood ready for the taking. I was better than that, for now. I knew it was only a matter of time before I became an animal. Before I became obsessed with survival. I often obsess over the past and the future, because the past is beautiful and the future could be. These fragmented memories and delusions are far more pleasant than the current reality.

It's day 376. We've walked this desolate earth for more than a year and my brothers and sisters are starting to fall. Nineteen of us remain. We trekked out from the service station a few months back and we were ambushed by dragons. Normally we could handle ourselves, when it comes to a fight between one and twenty one we always won, but this was different. I think the dragons are finally starting to unionise. It was a small group of just three, but it was enough to take down two of my brothers and sisters. We buried them of course, but we took the bodies of those animals with us. We are yet to feast on them.

I'd never killed someone before of course. I lived a normal life before this one. White picket fence, a wife, Stella, and a baby on the way. She passed not too long after the bombs dropped. A miserable miscarriage. They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, but why should I be strong? I want to be sensitive, I want to love again. In this place, you don't get what you want.

We'd never lost one of my brothers and sisters before. The group's morale is starting to dwindle. I can see it in their eyes. What was once hope and reserved optimism has been replaced by fear and macabre. When I catch glimpses of myself in mirrors and glass I don't see a man but a shell. An empty husk of duty and dumb will. We've found ourselves in a small town library. There isn't much food but there's a lot of books and with books brings fire. The shelves themselves are made from wood as well. We will be here for a while.

We've taken what food we can from the surrounding shops but it isn't much, but God forbid we move again. We all know we will eventually have to eat the dead dragons. We drained their blood into containers and left them in the cold outside while we salted the bodies and cooked them on the flames. The scent of burning flesh stays fresh in my mind. I smell it wherever I go. Everyday we draw closer to feasting on the dragons. This terrifies my brothers and sisters, I can see it in their eyes.

We draw lines for ourselves, rules so we maintain order. Sometimes we extend this to others, a standard you might call it. However, when acid rains from the sky and the wind cuts deep through you, standards wean. We grow hungry, we grow tired. We fear for our survival, our safety. Most people think it's anger the drives men to do terrible things but that's not it. It's fear.

It's day 412. We've started eating the bodies and drinking the blood. My brothers and sisters have fallen ill. The salt in the flesh and the iron in the blood churns our stomachs and fills our nightmares. I can see the madness creeping in. Terrible thoughts riddle my mind. Thoughts of murder. What was once silence is now often filled with the wails of my brothers and sisters. I hear my brother now 'please, please, please release me.'

We dare not make love in this world. To risk bringing a child into this life would be a deed so heinous the bearer would be forced to take their life. God knows the temptation is there. I reminisce now about my adolescence. I'd always been stronger, broader than the other men. The way women looked at me is burned into my mind. I see it now. One of my brothers and sisters, Elizabeth, we had made love after the bombs dropped. She hasn't touched me since we lost one of ours. The truth is, I don't want to be touched. It would feel so wrong now.

We raided a nearby liquor store not too long ago. Every night we drink till we spew and pass out by the fire. We secretly wish by the morning the flames had spread to our bodies and burnt us in our sleep. Alas, we wake every morning with splitting headaches and sour bellies. The booze dehydrates us and we drink much blood the next morning, but we chuck that up too. We are killing ourselves slowly with the bottle but it's only thing getting us through the days.

I see the tiredness in my brothers and sisters. They walk around with grimaces and frowns. I begin to contempt them. When we've got into the drink I fight them. I hold them over the fire and tell them I will soon turn them into empty, salted flesh. My brothers and sisters fear me. I am the strongest, the broadest. I don't mind it. This is a world where the weak rule the strong, they need to learn that.

It's day 672. I have joined the dragons. I see it now. I was weak in my immaturity. I am a stronger man now, I am a devotee to lord Antiochus. The dragons came to the library and gave us a choice. To join or to die. I do not call them my brothers and sisters anymore. They were weak and could not make the choice they needed to make. I feasted on their bones long ago. I do not think about them anymore, I do not admire them anymore. I instead look to my fellow Antiocheans for inspiration. I watch as they butcher men, women and children and I smile ear to ear. This is the plan, the grand design. This is what Antiochus teaches.

Throughout history the philosopher would have you convinced that the universe works in cycles. The Greeks with the ouroboros, Nietzsche and the flat circle. They were so sure that with death breeds life, but they lacked perspective. Nature always errs on the side of decay. All that is, all that was will be reduced to dust in the end. To resist this is foolish. This is what Antiochus teaches.

The dragons do not salt their meat. There is enough of us to eat the meat right away after a harvest. It tastes much better this way. I've grown a liking for human flesh, and the taste of blood. Soon there will be no one left but the dragons, and on that day we take our lives. Hand in hand we will fall. This is the grand design. This is what Antiochus teaches.

Us Antiocheans don't drink, we don't smoke and we make passionate love to each other in great numbers. We are far stronger than our prey in this way. We don't see the need to dull our senses and distract ourselves from Antiochus's vision. This world, this wasteland is what he prophesised millennia ago. We are to bear conscious witness to his beautiful creation. We don't use contraception, nor do we abort out children. We see life as beautiful as to bring life is to bring death and death is sacred. This is what Antiochus teaches.

This is my final entry. We finally executed Antiochus's vision. We found each and every last straggler to walk this earth and we killed them. We celebrated for days, we bathed in their blood and ate their flesh raw. It was beautiful. However, we must fulfil our promise to him and take our lives. One last midnight. To whoever made read this, know this. You are so lucky to see his design, and I ask you dearly to live on his legacy. Goodbye.