[ WP ] A 18 years old guy wakes up on a hot summer sunday at 11 AM . His parents are out of town , he was drinking and partying all night long . He heads out to the grocery store to buy some food . There are unconcious bodies all over the streets , in huge piles . He panics . Runs back to his home .

Jack ran. The only noise that existed to him was the rapid *smack! * of his shoes as he propelled through the street. There were no cars. There was no other noise. No machinery, no animals, no humans. Through the tears and the wind rushing through his ears, Jack was aware of his surroundings as it jagged in his mind. Dark ink blots laid out across the landscape. In yards. Next to cars. In the roads. People holding their front doors open with their dead weight. Large blots before after smaller inkblots. 
 
 *Parents chasing their kids* he thought. 
 
 He had been buried in his phone as he walked out the door, checking to see if he had sincerely fucked up any potential dates last night. He had. Most had n't responded. A few sent him polite'fuck you' texts back. Jack only looked up because his mind was telling him, yelling at him, that something was off about today. 
 He looked up and met the dead stare of a young girl, face up head turned to the side, in the middle of the street. He thought her unconscious. He really did, as he approached her. Until the thin river of blood start running out of the corner of her mouth. She stared at him. Did not blink. Did not breath. 
 
 He took off. All thoughts obsolete and stale. **GET HOME** was all that remained. 
 
 Jack ran into the front door. It had always been a weak set door, worn from the high humidity, scolding heat, and torrential rain of Florida. The door handle and lock ripped through the rotting wood, and the door swung open with a shower of splinters. Jack began sending out texts. Taking pictures from the inside of his house. He called mom. Got voicemail. Rinse and repeat nine more times. Tried dad five times in a row. No one picked up. His palms sweat. He had long stopped crying. Was n't even aware he had been until he had brushed his hand against the whole of his face to feel an unfamiliar wetness to it. 
 
 He turned on the news. `` Today, peace talks in the Middle East have taken yet another tragic turn for the worst.'' Flipped the channel. `` And now back to the studio for Sports Analysis with Ricky-'' Flipped the Channel. Jerry was mediating another conflict on his show. 
 
 *It's just here* he thought. *Oh fuck it's just here. just right here. It is n't everywhere yet. * 
 *Now Jack, what is this* IT *you keep calling it? * 
 
 The sound of fading static filled his eardrums. Was n't even static as it was something else, more human but still emotionally removed. Like a continuous breath of air a dying man tried to inhale before going under. He looked to his front door, swinging wide open. He went to it, pushing it shut. It did not stay, all holds having been broken upon his reentry back inside. Outside, the sound of peeling air was amplified. Jack looked outside. He started to cry again. 
 
 All of the once still bodies, once laying down, were sitting up. Everybody was a near perfect ninety degrees ruler, legs flat to the ground, torsos erect. Their mouths open in huge O's, thin red lines running out from the corners of their mouths. 
 More then fifty in his field of vision. All turned and met his eyes at once. They started to get up.
