By Adrien Duffett, aged 14
“Quick, pass me the defibrillator, his heart rate is dropping at an increasing speed! AND WHERE IS THE GODDAMN SPECIALIST I CALLED FOR?”
The buzz of the defibrillator started up.
“The defibrillator is ready, Doctor.”
That was the tenth one that day, and thankfully the last. I guess you could call it a good day ever since people started catching it. ‘It’? It was what I spent my days trying to stop. Some people called it The Red Plague or The Beat but where I worked we called it The Deathibrilator. Nobody knows where it comes from or what it is and there aren’t many people left on earth to figure it out; all I know is that I’ve got to try to avoid it and try save people with it.
A couple of days later
“Everything you have just told me is a complete and utter lie. Now tell me the truth and we might both live!” I shouted at him. “What is so special about you that you are not affected by it?”
“By what? What is ‘it’?”
“The Red Plague, The Beat… nothing… The Deathibrilator!”
“I don’t know what you’re on about.”
He is telling the truth, he actually has no idea what’s happened to the world; but how has he not realised the world has been like this for over a year? What is so special about him that he has managed to avoid the virus? As I was thinking to myself, the man whom I had been shouting at lifted his head up and took off his hood; he looked no older than 16, possibly 18. He had distinctive olive black eyes. I had seen this boy before, I was sure of it… of course, at the hospital… he had died.