Phill Wilson

After the virus broke out, everything turned to its awful face. There was no hope left for living. The world they expected was something like a bus traveling for ages with no specific destination—years and years of humankind's struggles, was just gone. After all these offerings and all these cruelties left in the world, they saw a tiny light of hope.

He closed the door behind himself, locked it, sits on the ground with tears falling from his eyes, doesn't know what to do and what to believe, in all these years it was like his life is ruined and nothing is gonna be like the same again. He cried. He wanted the pain to stop even if it was for a second. The lifeless body of his wife, Gloria was starting to get stink next to him. Her blood was all over the place, he touched her head with his right hand, pushed her eye-lid to close her eyes and let her rest in peace. The world is ending, not only his life but the whole country is going to chaos. for a moment he looked at himself in the mirror which was next to his wife's dead body, he looked at himself crying next to her body like a child, a 60 years old man lost his only true love. He saw himself weak. For some moments he thought he has nothing to lose because he is nothing.

He hugged her dead body, whispered something on her ears. "I love you..."
His last drop of tear fell down from his eyes and he tried to stand up with getting help from a table next to him. He was shaking, he was dying from inside. The sound of people screaming and looking for help all around the neighborhood can be heard from anywhere in the home. e walked upstairs to his room, looked outside from the window, saw the lifeless bodies of people chasing people to their homes, streets and even their cars. He crawled on the ground to take his old rifle from under his bed. He reloaded it. He had made everything ready for himself and his wife to go, but things went too wrong. At that moment suddenly he heard a voice from outside of his house, someone is knocking his door and hitting it with both hands, he approached the door and heard nothing but moans. He placed his rifle on the closed wooden door, shot it, the dead body fell on the ground, as he opened the door and started running towards it the only vehicle on the street which was damaged.

He turned on the engine and hit the gas to just go as far as he can, he looked at his house from the mirror, the house that he had all of his memories on it, and he is not leaving it because he has no choice. He saw people are fighting the dead ones with all they had as he was driving to go out of the city. He was nervous and stressed, people were going insane, the military was trying to save some people but it wasn't clear that what they actually doing. Everything was awkward and wrong. He managed to get out of the city while everything was getting destroyed behind him, the city was burning on fire, and was getting filled with dead bodies and blood.

A man with long beard and blue eyes, he has tierd face because of his hard life, it's like 10 yesrs he hasn't been in barber. He has wooden stick with himself to walk with it.
Sometimes he wears his weird glasses to see better, he carrying his hiking backpack with himself everywhere. He wears a hat sometimes. And also torned pants.