Find Me

His wound itched. With his dirt-ridden left hand, he scratched it, scraping the surface of the length of wool he had instinctively wrapped around his mauled leg, a makeshift bandage. He looked down and, after examining the wound once more, saw that his fingers had been stained by blood that had seeped through the cloth. Dry, stale blood. From time to time, a searing shock of pain would shoot up his leg, bolt through his body and to his head. The muzzle of his gas mask hovered before his head. He realized that wearing it was of no use anymore. In one smooth motion, he yanked it off and hurled it away, punishing it for restricting his vision for so long.

His body spat out his blood, as though it was relishing discharging the now contaminated liquid. In short, mighty bursts it would bleed, stop bleeding, and bleed again. As if all the blood in his body had leaked out through the gaping hole and his wound was now fetching the last of his blood from his trembling body to spew. Banishing it. His foot was doused with it, and he left a trail of bloody footsteps in his path. He lay flat on the floor and faced the sky. It was grey and cloudless, bare. Like it had died.

In his right hand, he held a piece of aged wood. Its surface was scratched, engraved by the force of terrified fingernails. A part of a floorboard that it had been pried from. A streak of blood, now a deteriorated, rusty black, smeared across it, running from one far end to the other. The sound of his every move and aching groan echoed through his surroundings, or possibly just through his own head. He couldn’t tell.

He lay shivering, recounting the day’s events. As though if he thought hard enough, he could reverse what had happened. He lamented as his body withered and bled. He painted the empty canvas of the sky before him with his memories. He thought of the girl, her image engrained in his memory. How he’d looked at her, with fear and awe, past the dust and specks of filth that had accumulated on his gas mask.

He remembered how she’d stood there, frozen. Eyeing her next meal. So still that he thought she’d died where she stood. Her hair was wildly growing and unkempt in places, forcibly pulled out in others. Like a map, he thought. It looked like a map detailing, in startling and horrendous clarity, all that had gone wrong with the world, all that had stripped children of their smiles, the fall breeze of its gentle sweetness, the sun of its light. Her teeth, visibly sharpened by manic gritting or vicious grinding against the bones of someone’s living ribcage, were always on display. The children were the fiercest, the most dangerous.

She scowled at him, a contemptuous look upon her scarred face. He looked in her eyes and saw a cloud of bloodthirsty desire. The embodiment of what it is to be inhuman, ruthless. He remembered his gas mask being uncomfortable, as if always had been. Her clothes were bloody, not so much stained as drenched in blood.

Another shock of pain blazed though his body. He howled in pain. His voice shrill, faint now. His wound caught his attention for a second, then the girl occupied his thoughts again. He remembered the pain most of all; the pain of her jabbing her teeth into his thigh, clenching her jaw with all her might. Her nails digging into his back. He pulled out a knife and thrashed blindly at her, turning his head away and covering his eyes with his free arm as he did.

Her dying screams rang in his ear. Like a knife wedged in his head. Guttural cries, soaked in agony and torment. For before they died, pain would engulf them, viciously extinguishing the savage creatures, erasing every trace of their being. Viciously omitting them from existence. The disease was just as ferocious they were.

His mind emptied of everything, all the grief and misery of his world. All his memories melted into a mass that faded away. The unmistakable feeling of death, he thought. He imagined the girl had felt the same. All the memories, thoughts, pain vanished into a corner of his mind until there was nothing.  Nothing except the block of wood he’d spent years studying, sought hope, motivation and encouragement from. He thought of how it embodied his will, his power, his purpose in life. He thought of how it had fed his soul hope with unyielding intensity. He thought of how it was his only reason to live. He thought of his unforgivable failure.

With the care of a mother carrying her child, he placed the block on his chest. On his heart. He shut his eyes one last time, and, just as he had for years before, thought of the words etched on the block of wood.

find me


  1. I AM SIMPLY AWED AND WOW-ED o.O Mashallah it’s great!!! you somehow always find the right words to express and describe what you’re tryna say, or well write =p. I should learn how to write from youuuu. Well I’m already learning by reading your stuff. Keep it up! (y)

  2. This short story is absolutely magnificent! I loved reading every little bit of it. The writing is so good, the language was so descriptive, and it was just so well-written altogether. Keep it up, Sami 🙂 keep writing your awesome stories and I shall indeed, keep loyally reading ❤

  3. Oh my God, Sami! I loved reading this. Loved the descriptions and the details you mentioned. This went right through my heart.
    Keep this up, Sami. 🙂 You’re a great writer.

  4. Every short piece you write leaves me wanting even more!
    I love, again, how detailed your descriptions are!! It’s like I’m there!!
    I wonder, are they various thoughts that cross your mind and form a short story?
    How do you make up the plot?

    p.s: I’d like a reply to that =P

    1. Quite the loquacious comment, isn’t that? Alright, here’s your reply:

      1. Thank you! I’m glad you think so. That means a lot to me.

      2. This particular story’s inspiration was watching the Poets Of The Fall “Carnival of Rust” music video. I’m sure you’ll find the gas mask the character in the video wears familiar.

      3. How do I make up the plot? I would honestly attribute that to my demented head, it usually develops in my head in a quick whirlwind of thought. I thought up this story’s in little over 20 minutes. In this story’s case, I thought of the ending first, then worked my way backward.

      Thanks for commenting! =D

  5. Two words: sheer brilliance. Despite the extensive vocabulary, the story is still easy to follow. You’re the kind of writer who keeps a person eagerly awaiting whatever you’re going to come up with next because they know they’re going to love every minute of it.

  6. You already know my opinion, Sami 🙂 Amazing as usual….. You have the ability to describe anything powerfully, and by “anything” I mean ANYTHING; physical surrounding, people, indescribable emotions, undefinable moments.. etc. Honestly, you should start thinking about writing a novel.. or something of a denser and longer content.. with a more developed plot.

  7. It was Really Beautiful, how you put the words together, it was like poetry.. I was imagining it in my head while i was reading, and i love that! Keep it up!

  8. just one word….. WOW!
    i dunno what will i say, but you’re the greaty smarty nicely pretty amazingly cool writer! 😀
    sorry i just can your blog now, you’re sooo damn amazing writer and im SERIOUS with my words! 😀 KEEP WRITING MASTER OF WRITER i ♥ your blog

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