Nobody knows what day it is anymore.
Nobody knows the month, the day of the week...and the only way to tell time is by the slight change in the color of the sky from grey to black every twenty-four hours.
If a day even is twenty-four hours anymore.
The planet is dead. The people are dead. Snow falls down upon piles of bodies like the ash of a volcanic eruption.
Except, the snow doesn't stop. It never does. It continues to fall and fall until you wonder if it is even possible for another flake to come down and land silently in your hair. But it does. They do.
There are few survivors of what the remaining have started to call the end of the world. The Apocalypse. Few who are still brave or scared of death enough to face the torture that is living.
I am one of those survivors.
Highest ranking: #3 in Sci-Fi
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