It all started about a year ago. Everyone was talking about how it was a miracle that the government found out a cure to the common cold. But there were those of us that were wary of this new god-sent cure, and for good reason.
The few of us that refused it, the ones that were soon called heretics, believed that it was too good to be true. We already had the cure for many types of disease, but trying to cure just a minor cold that could be overcome in a few days was just outrageous. We weren't God, so we didn't have a reason to try and be perfect. We were afraid if we tried too hard we would ruin ourselves. Sadly, we were right.
Around a month and two weeks after the new "miracle-cure" was released to the public, almost everyone had taken it. Those who hadn't were too far away from society to have access to is, and the others were the heretics.
It turns out that the cure was actually a virus. At first the virus was hidden inside of the cure, and it was only slightly visible to scientists, so they overlooked it. But that turned out to be a grave mistake.
About ninety-eight percentage of the population was now sick. They were slowly dying, from something much worse than the common cold. It took about another month for those that were sick to finally drop dead. At least, that was what we believed for the next three months.
We had created a small civilization, where we had running water and crops. We were happy and content with ourselves. Out of all of the prier population, we were the smartest for not taking the cure. We thought we'd live on like that forever. But everything changes eventually.
One day they sent me out to scavenge anything that needed to be scavenged. I was supposed to look for anything we could use, whether it was scrap metal, extra gas, or possibly some tools. I was given the van I used every time, with my name painted along the sides in big, red letters, reading: PAUL MORRISON.
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