- Traces of the Past -
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A few minutes later, he finally reaches the city—a labyrinth of shadows and ruins. "I need to find what I left here so long ago. Maybe, by retrieving it, I can reignite a little hope." Moving quickly and silently between devastated buildings, he hears a familiar and terrifying sound—gunshots, getting closer, chasing him like relentless hunters. His blood runs cold. Without thinking twice, he throws himself into an abandoned building, rolling through debris and decomposing bodies. "I need to find a safe place. What do they want with me? Next time, they won't miss."
Cautiously, he stands up, ignoring the pain pulsing through his muscles. He advances through the ruined building, where the air is thick with the scent of mold and decay. Finding a door at the back, he takes a deep breath and peers around, watching the shadows for any sign of movement. Everything is silent... too silent. He slips outside, blending into the apocalyptic scenery of abandoned cars and cracked asphalt, until he reaches his destination: the old school, a place full of memories, now a grave of lost hopes.
Climbing over the wall with skill, he lands in the courtyard. The inside of the school is unrecognizable—a true nightmare. Blood covers the walls, chairs and backpacks lie scattered across the floor, as if terror had interrupted an ordinary class. Driven by an urgency beyond logic, he presses forward.
Upon entering one of the classrooms, his eyes find the specific desk he's looking for. With trembling hands, he searches the drawer until he finds what he came for: an old bag. Inside, the cellphone that held so many memories—and still had a bit of battery left. He lets out a sigh of relief. "Finally. This will bring me some peace." Alongside the phone, he picks up other small objects—fragments of a life that now seemed so distant.
"Now I need to find a safe place to spend the night. Away from curious eyes, away from danger." But before he can leave the building, a metallic sound echoes through the hallway. He freezes, staying completely silent, his eyes shifting to the half-open door. A grotesque figure emerges, moving with terrifying speed. Instinctively, he draws his knife and grips it tightly.
The infected creature, deformed by the plague, lunges at him. Its eyes are lifeless, its body a twisted mockery of the human form. He strikes, plunging the blade into the side of its neck. The creature staggers back, crashing into a window. With one final push, he sends it through the glass, which shatters into a thousand pieces as the monster falls. "What kind of monster was that?! It didn't look like a dominator, but whatever it was, I need to get out of here."
He runs without looking back, his heart pounding until his legs nearly give out. Finally, he finds an isolated building—a temporary refuge amid the desolation. He sets up a small corner to rest, using his backpack as a pillow. As he lies down, the exhaustion of the escape begins to fade into a faint sense of peace. He survived. For now.
Taking out the cellphone, he scrolls through old photos—glimpses of a life that now seems to belong to someone else. Each image stabs at his heart, bringing back beloved faces, laughter, and memories of happier days. Suddenly, the screen flickers and dies. The battery's gone, momentarily erasing the memories.
With a weary sigh, he sets the phone aside and pulls out an old storybook. Writing is his last way of escaping that hell. With a pen, he scribbles across the yellowed pages, creating a place where wolves and humans coexist, where happiness, love, and hope still exist—a world that's the complete opposite of his cruel reality. There, he dreams of a peaceful haven, where he and those he once loved would be safe.
Sleep finally overcomes him. His hands let the notebook rest on his chest, the final hopeful words etched into the worn pages. Slowly, his mind drifts off into a world of dreams—a place that, at least for a few hours, offers a glimpse of something better.
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