Continuation on Surviving the Odds

That was what went through the man’s head as they were reaching the settlement. He was in shock that it didn’t happen. I guess things were really going to turn around he thought. Finally they drove into the settlement. The settlement really was what used to be the neighborhood filled with all the richer people from around the area. It was in shambles, but it was the best place to keep people.

When they drove into the settlement the man saw that everyone was working to try and restore the area for proper living. The man got out of the car and an older gentleman came over to greet him.

“Welcome,” the older gentleman said. “My name is Robert and this is our little colony.”

“Hello, my name is Kurt,” the man said. “Are we the only ones left?”

“The only ones I know of,” Robert said. “I haven’t heard of any other colonies sproutin’ up, then again communication is rather hard these days.”

“True,” Kurt said “Well is there anything I can do to help?”

“Well for right now you should get settled” Robert said “Then once you are ready you can help others to get this place back up and running.”

“Sounds great,” Kurt said.

Kurt could not believe it. In one day he had gone from pondering suicide to living with the last survivors on Earth. Was it luck or fate? Kurt got settled and helped the others around the colony to help restore it.

Night fell and everyone went off to sleep. Everything was quiet as if the world was born anew. There were not even crickets or frogs to make noise. In the distance a noise pierced the night a small one, but a noise nonetheless. It was the sound of light footsteps marching in the distance. No one could hear them except the crumbling buildings and the desolate wasteland that lay ahead. They were coming, but who knew when or even what they were. Only the light would tell.

How does this sound?

Greg was irritated. Between the trouble his teenage son had been getting into and the overworking and underpaying job he had got himself, things were definitely not going well. Tricia had threatened divorce twice this month already, and their younger son had developed an unrecognizable malady. He sighed, he had to set his life back on track.

“Say, Roy, why don’t we head to the doctors?” He said. “You’ve been looking off color since you went to visit your sick friend at the hospital.” Hopefully Tricia would appreciate the time he was trying to put into help their sons.

6 year-old Roy nodded, too weak to speak. A day before he had been energetic and active. How? Greg thought, how does one day make so big of a difference?

The hospital was typical; white walled with the strong scent of disinfectants. Greg inwardly groaned. He was the type that avoided places like this.

“Number 23, please” the receptionist called.

23… that was the number on their ticket. Greg stood and shouldered Roy. Another doctor led them to an isolated room and started asking Roy questions, who in turn just nodded or shook his head.

Suddenly, a Justin Beiber song started playing out of nowhere. “Oh,” Greg said, “It’s just my phone.” Greg checked the front, caller ID… 1-354…ugh, it was Jack’s school again. He picked up the call.

“Hello, this is the secretary of Wheaton High school. Is this the father of Jack Close?”

“Yes it is. What has Jack done now?”

The secretary half chuckled. “Jack is only ill. He is being dismissed now.”

Greg sighed with relief. “I see, I’ll just hop on over there then.” He terminated the call. “I’m sorry, but my other son has fallen ill as well. Do you think I could leave? It would only be for a few minutes.”

The doctor nodded. “It should be fine; I’ll be here a bit longer to finish the basic physical check-up.”

Greg nodded and left, pausing only to grab the keys from the bedside table.

Anything stand out as bad? Good?

An Excerpt.

It was fall, and I was stuck transferring into another school. Again. And it was a public school; it was my very first time transferring to a public school. But it was easy.

The last month had consisted of many idiotic public schoolers trying to catch up. Hmmp. As if they could. Before, watching them struggle with variables was fun. Now, it was getting a bit old. The sky was blue, the grass was green, and living was easy. Not to mention boring.

My boring day was interrupted when I learned that we were getting our exams back.

Those public-school idiots were still whispering after the bell rang.

“Yo, the old teach told us the class average was under 70!” one said.

“Really? I heard it was less than 60 this time!”

“C’mon! That’s impossible! That kid’s in our class!”

They were talking about me, obviously. That was my initial thought.

“You mean Ken?”

“Yeah, I mean Ken! Everyone else is lucky to get away with passing grades!”

Hmm… Okay, they weren’t talking about me, then.

A while later the teacher entered the class. Ugh. She’s always late. Ms. Merrier lugged a stack of papers and smacked them onto the table with a thunk. Then, she started calling out names.

“Rosier.”

“Here!”

“Come get your test, Rosier!”

“Oh.”

I yawned. Merrier had a habit of piling the tests from low score to high score, so it was best to be called last. In other words, there wasn’t a chance in hell that my test was coming soon.

“Boucher.”

“Sampson.”

“Adams…”

I blocked Merrier’s voice out, and switched to nibbling on my pen. My name will come last, I said to myself silently. My name will come last.

Without knowing the age, gender, ethnicity (yes, that matters), or other attributes to the main character, what does the voice make you think? Is it developed? In what ways can I improve the voice?