A Single Rose. Poem by Jason Yarkie

Call me naive for not trusting in what lay before my eyes, unaltered, uncensored. Perhaps my ignorance was to blame, perhaps it was the mere fact that, as I describe our current situation, my city is engrossed with what used to be a civillization, turned to darkness. Why hadn't I informed the public of this? I could have prolonged the amount of time before the outbreak, perhaps even stopped it. Now, because of my stubborn-minded act, we will have to pay the consequences, and they are preparing their destruction tri-fold.

Would they have believed it?

How could a man, a feebleminded man at that, create what is now slowly destroying humanity? Such a virus, a mere altercation of what it was, is quickly overcoming our very existence. Our town, once serene and peaceful, now a decayed prison, forcing those who inhabited it never to leave.

Such a place destroyed, due to one man's unintelligent resort of mutilation.

I am, to the fullest extent out of danger to say the least. Not long now will an eruption of mutated persons come for me. It is my duty, my responsibility, to inform the current reader of this situation.

I am not yet aware if that is necessary as I have yet to encounter another survivor. As you are reading this, I'd like to say that you have survived, for now. Congratulations. All that i can tell you is; There IS a way to stop the virus...



The journal, bound in black leather, lay open to the current page. Among the destruction, the journal had been cast upon the cement floor; there it lay, still vulnerable to those who were able to read it. It's purpose? To inform any survivors of the situation, and to provide a way to defeat the man who created, out of anger, this poison. Difficult to acknowledge, or even believe for that matter, the entry and problem, were still a reality. Supposedly the town had been overrun with lycanthrope, but perhaps this is untrue? Accounts of wolf-like qualities taking over a persons total appearance, and then personality, are only a scratch on the surface of the very real mutation. Soon, the infected developed a taste for a wolf's normal diet, and eventually no human qualities remained in the beast. Is it real...?

The journal had been salvaged to the full extent of time. It wasn't long before the lycanthrope population destroyed it. It was a shame that no one was able to read the entry. The contents of the journal described a once halcyon and tranquil existence, which in this time of darkness, turned to a devastated and decayed state. Overcome by a man-made plague, the town, still standing to say the least, was horrifically dilapidated, never to return to the way it once was. Perhaps, they say, this event could have been halted.

The author of the journal entry was anonymous, however, adorning the bottom right corner, etched, was a single black rose...