The Day Of The Dead

• Alexander Wilson, Grade 8
• Poetry
• 2009

2104
As Jack looked out at the barren wasteland of Hollywood, he remembered what had caused this disaster. That one day of pure chaos that decided the fate of the entire human race.
It would be exactly one year ago tomorrow, but now it seemed more like a lifetime. It all happened because of the S.O.L.O.S. experiment. Lots of people thought it would cause a black hole, but they were way off.
Somehow, and I can’t figure out why, it sent out a signal that made all the world's nuclear missiles fire at the same time.
After this, all chaos broke out. At first, everyone went to their cars, and as thousands of cars all pulled out at once, it caused a traffic jam so big that everyone left their cars as they where, and ran for the nearest bomb shelter. None of them made it in time. Only the ones that went straight to their bomb shelters survived, and from them, only the ones that didn’t leak radiation.
I remember those hours well. Stuck in my shelter, hearing explosions all around me. Listing to screams of pain. Trying not to panic. Hours turned into days. The only reason that I survived was because I had lots of food to keep myself from starvation.
As I shoved the door open and struggled through the rubble, I had a look at what had become of Washington D.C., my home for all my life. The monument was broken in half. I didn’t even want to know what had happened to the other. I looked behind me at my home, but there was nothing left except for a couple of bricks and a fire place that looked as if it was about to fall over any second. There was a slightly damaged car halfway down the road. Like most cars, it still had its key in the ignition, and when I tried it, it worked.
That was when I decided to travel America; looking for other survivors.
There are only a couple of thousand people left, and the chances of someone else being in the U.S.A. are slim, but I had to look.
And now, here I am, almost one year later, standing on a veranda on an apartment block in Hollywood. Sometimes I think that the ones who died where the lucky ones.
Sarah came to join me.
“No,” I thought, “I’m the lucky one.” I survived. Then I came to Hollywood where I met Sarah.
The sun rose. It’s been a year. It’s now the day of the dead.