Young Writers Society

Prologue





“It’s dark out, isn’t it.”
The words were not spoken as a question, but as a statement. Because I was not asked for my opinion on the matter, I did not speak, and Worm accepted my silence dutifully.
“But then,” he went on, “It’s been dark for awhile now.”
At this I gave a grunt, though my eyes remained clenched shut. Part of me hoped he would soon mistake me for sleeping, though another part wished he would speak until the sky fell down around us. Worm had a hypnotic voice, like those that could be found in books on tape or on night time radio. I had yet to decide whether I liked or disliked this quality of his. Indecisiveness had become a common feeling recently, it seemed.
The floor on which we both lay was cold. It seeped through our filthy clothes, pressing against our skin. The tile glistened mockingly, oddly bright almost in spite of the thick layer of dust that covered most everything. We were in a grocery store, though it had been longed reaped of any salvageable food. It looked as though Worm and I were the first to visit in a long time. This worried me. It meant we were falling behind. If we fell behind the others who were migrating toward Canada, we might not make it to a safe house in time. Only God knew what would happen then.
Worm’s voice paused, and I knew he was waiting for me to respond to something he had said.
“You’re an idiot,” I droned, my automatic response to most of his ramblings. He laughed, a laugh that sounded as though he had nothing in this world to fear. I opened my eyes a sliver, gazing at him through thick lashes. He looked tired, I decided. Tired, but joyful. I was incredulous. How could anyone show such joy at times such as these.
“Go to bed,” I sighed, fully opening my eyes and gazing at him sternly, “We need to make it far tomorrow. If we don’t get to the next city we’re screwed.”
Worm clucked his tongue, a hand rising to brush his sandy hair from his face. He closed his own eyes, brows relaxed and serene, unlike mine that furrowed almost constantly. Words began to pour from his mouth again, though they were soft and almost whispered, almost like a lullaby for himself. I reminded myself to scavenge for some scissors the next chance we got. There might be a drugstore or abandoned house that still had a pair. A knife would suffice at the very least. Both of us needed hair cuts, though Worm perhaps more so then me. I was at least used to long hair. Before the Panic I had always kept my red hair long and wavy. When the Panic began my brother had cut off all my hair, saying that it would prove a hindrance in the days to come. He had been right. My brother had been right about a lot of things.
It was he who had first predicted that the Panic would come. Very few believed him though, and those who did were in no position to lend a hand. No matter how many press conferences or rallies he held, most called him crazy. I wonder how many think of him now, and how he had been right. More importantly, I wonder where he is now, and if he is able to face those who held him down. Though, my brother had never been one to say ‘I told you so…’
“I like to think of it that way,” Worm finished, falling silent. I had missed the first part of what his said, and flipped over sleepily on my side to face him.
“Think of what, what way?” I asked, rubbing my eyes. Worm grinned, as though he had been waiting for me to ask that very question.
“The last day the cable worked, the woman on the news said that some people were talking about an apocalypse. That the Panic was one,” Worm spoke as though he were about to impart a great secret, his voice speeding up slightly, “Did you know that ‘apocalypse’ doesn’t actually mean ‘the end of the world’? It means ‘lifting of the veil’.” His eyes clouded for a moment, and in that second Worm looked just as lost and weary as the rest of us in this rotting world, “I like to think of it that way. The lifting of the veil. Not the end. Not the end.”
“That’s…a nice idea…I like it…” I croaked, suddenly and for no reason terrified. Perhaps it was because deep down I really did believe that it was the end.
Or it could have been my instinct telling me something was going to try to kill me before the night was over. Sometimes it's hard to tell.

Nice work.

“It’s dark out, isn’t it.”

You don't have to listen to this, but grammar would call for a question mark instead of a period. However, if you meant to convey a monotonistic quality in his voice, then it's forgivable.

“But then,” he went on, “It’s been dark for awhile now.”

Since the 'It's' comes after a comma rather than a period, it should be written 'it's.'

The floor on which we both lay was cold. It seeped through our filthy clothes, pressing against our skin.

I see what you were trying to say here, but in the second sentence, 'it' seems to be referring to two different things. In the first clause, you seem to be referring to the coldness of the floor doing the seeping. But in the second, the wording implies that you are now referring to something solid, such as the floor.

We were in a grocery store, though it had been longed reaped of any salvageable food.

The phrasing might sound better as "it had long been reaped."

It looked as though Worm and I were the first to visit in a long time. This worried me. It meant we were falling behind.

The last two sentences are both very short, which makes them sound somewhat choppy together. I'd like to suggest a semicolon connecting the first and second sentences.

How could anyone show such joy at times such as these.

'Such' is used twice in a short span. Also, there should be a question mark here.

Words began to pour from his mouth again, though they were soft and almost whispered, almost like a lullaby for himself.

'Almost' is used very close to itself here.

though Worm perhaps more so then me.

Than is used for comparisons.

I had missed the first part of what his said, and flipped over sleepily on my side to face him.

He said?

Anyway, aside from mechanics, I don't really know how to improve this piece. The word choice for the most part is sound, and the pace was acceptable. You could maybe give a little more of a hint as to what exactly the Panic is, at least towards the end of the passage. But good work.