The Final Hour

Prologue

    Before the days when Hell razed the Earth, I'd always see this homeless fellow squat down across my apartment every day. He was exactly how I'd imagine a homeless to be - filthy, greasy-haired, and foul smelling. The kids in my neighborhood would flock around him sometimes and pick on him just for those reasons. They'd call him "trailer trash" and berate him constantly about his smell. But this fellow - I tell you - never lost his patience with these kids. He'd play along with their teasings. Hell, he'd insult himself even.

    His name was Charlie.

    He never mentioned a surname. He was just called Charlie.

    I got to know him after finally gathering the courage to approach him one day. He greeted me like we were old friends who hadn't seen each other in years. He was as kind-hearted as he made himself out to be. I'd come home from work, and he'd always be slumped right across my apartment - flashing me a faint smile. When I had the extra budget, I'd pick some dinner for him. He was never ungrateful. 

    But there strange things about him though.

    Of all the items in his ragged clothing, one article stood out. Like it wasn't part of his whole "homeless" spiel. On his left wrist, he wore a small band. It was made of silver and it had symbols engraved on it (though I couldn't make it out). It looked absolutely priceless, and Charlie could have easily just pawned it off to get some money and pull himself out of this state. But he made it clear to me that it was something very special to him. It might have been a family heirloom. I never knew. He never talked about how he got it. And I never really bothered to push him.

    Another strange thing about Charlie was the things he'd talk to me about sometimes. Real crazy stuff. He'd mention something about there being an apocalypse in a few months. A "cleansing", he called it. And he'd always tell me to get ready. He'd always tell me that Hell was ready to break lose. He sounded a little crazy, I wasn't going to deny that. But I indulged him. He probably just needed a friend. 

    But he insisted I take him seriously. He sounded so desperate. As though he wanted to warn me in particular. He told me not to run from death if it ever came to me. That I should just accept it. That I should never fight back. His wordings struck me as odd. But maybe these were just words of wisdom from a lonely man. Though it's not like I didn't already know that advice. I always thought of death as the best escape. Y'know, better to die free than live a slave, and all that.

    On June 15, 2013 - it was a Friday. I didn't see Charlie sitting across the street. He was usually sat there with that small smile of his. Oftentimes staring blankly at the sky as if he was just waiting for the world to end on him. But he wasn't there that day. I never thought too much of it then. But with that's happening now, I can't help but wonder about his whereabouts. 

    The following day - June 16, 2013 - the Cleansing began. Darkness swept over the world, and the dead rose from their slumber to terrorize the living. I was having lunch at an eatery just two blocks from my apartment when this happened. I never saw it coming. No one did. No one but Charlie. 

    I barely made it out of the initial nightmare alive. I hid in my apartment for days - eating what was left of the canned food I bought days ago. I couldn't bear to step out out there. I could hear the screams of men, women, and children echoing through the streets. The sounds of gunfire and what sounded like an entire s*******r continuously clashed for weeks. The streets were filled with blood and reeked of iron. I didn't have the mindpower to bother understanding why the world was coming to an end like this. All I knew was that the life we all had then was never coming back. 

    I spent many sleepless nights in that apartment. It was easy to develop a heightened form of paranoia when you live in a world where you have to frequently worry about your safety and welfare. I didn't feel safe sleeping on my bed so I opted on sleeping under the bed instead. I locked and barricaded my door - hoping that whatever it was that roamed the apartment's halls at night wouldn't play smart and try to come in. 

    About a month later, I exhausted all of my rations. I was desperate for food, but my fear of what roamed outside my room was greater than my innate sense of hunger. I spent hours hoping and praying for some miracle to come through the door. A miracle that would bring me something to eat, perhaps.

    That's when I met Tommy. 

    He was a man about my age and he had been surviving on his own outside. He pulled me out of my shell and taught me the ways of surviving the new world. A world, according to him, was born after the Cleansing. 

    The Cleansing. 

    I remembered Charlie. I remembered all the things he rambled incessantly about. 

    About his talk of the end. And how I never truly listened to him. 

    I made it my goal the first few weeks I was out of the apartment to look for Charlie. But I never found the man. Hell, I never even knew where to start looking. He didn't exactly have a proper address. He didn't have direct family as far as I knew. I feared the horde might have gotten him. 

    But he could be faring well. After all, he knew about all this before it even happened.

    I'll never know for sure.