The air was heavy. Thin beams of red light shone through the windows, covered half haphazardly by thin sheets of newspaper. It’s been weeks, maybe even months since he left his room. How could he leave? The world outside was in shambles; the sky was blood red, bodies littered the streets, there was no one left waiting for him. The lightbulb in his room had fused a long time ago, not that he had any interest in switching it on. If he had, the creatures would have noticed him a long time ago.

His room was plain, a juxtaposition to the carnage outside his home. However, in its corner, sat a small, disfigured creature. Its 3 arms were thin and gangly, its face distorted with pain. Its body was plump and disproportionate, Its eyes were hollow and its body was covered in patchy grey fur. He did not know if it could see or hear him. He had called out to it countless times, knowing it was alive, but to no avail. The creature in the corner was nothing like the ones outside. They were strong and fast, with insatiable bloodlust, while the creature in the corner was sick and gangly, indistinguishable from a corpse. All he knew was that this creature was the only reason he had survived. Every evening, it regurgitated a pile of flesh. This flesh was not like anything from our planet, it was a half solid mixture of meat, hair and nails. In his desperation , the flesh was his only source of sustenance.

As time passed, the creature grew. He did not think it was possible that this small feeble creature could change and evolve to this extent. He noticed every change the creature underwent.

Its body had fused with the corner of his room, clinging to the walls like rotting grape vines. Shiny black tendrils had emerged from its torso, wrapping around the foot of his bed, along with anything else it could reach. Its flesh oozed a dark muck, which scarred every surface it came in contact with. The creature’s face had distorted, from that of a pathetic frail runt to that of a demon straight from hell. When the creature first started murmuring, it spoke in an otherworldly tongue, nothing like he had ever heard. However, as its tendrils crept up the walls of his room, the creature began speaking to him. The words were not heard by his ears, but were sent directly into his brain, sending tremors throughout his body. The monster’s words were like an endless incessant buzzing, never leaving him a moment of silence. He knew that his luck had run out. The day the creature’s tendrils catch him would be his last. This thought amused him, who would have thought: the last flame of humanity would be snuffed out with such a pathetic whimper. Instead of a final triumphant hurrah, humanity’s last remaining survivor would end with a muffled whisper.