End-timer
This story was inspired by a monthly short story contest hosted by Jordy Rousse he does over on his Instagram. August’s 2025’s short story had a 1,500 word limit with the prompt: How to surive…
The day it happened, I went from being the craziest person in town to the most important.
Strange, considering I hadn’t known a single soul. But apparently, people knew me. Not truly anyway, but enough to have a version of me in their head. One I imagined stemmed from the infamous nicknames they’d heard echoing across town. There was the old-fashioned Doomsayer, the not so common Loony Lonny, and then my personal favorite, and the one that stuck in the end: End-Timer.
Clever and fitting, I had thought, for an old-timer like myself. But if you’re reading this then you already knew that. Still, it’s important to know how you all viewed me before the world collapsed. How the county loon, conspiracy theorist, and prepper went from being so easily forgotten to the first thought in everyone’s head when they invaded. I imagine that’s why you’re reading this.
It’s bizarre… how easily people label others as crazy until they prove they’re not. And that’s always easier said than done. Trust me, I know. So, you’d best remember that. As well as these rules I will offer you to show you how to survive up there.
Rule #1: There’s nothing more valuable than your own self-worth.
I’m having a hard time not scowling as I sit here comfortably in my bunker and write this with the constant sound of you banging on my steel door. Because you see, I’ve always known my self-worth. Long before you had. And unfortunately, your time of self-worth will come as you fight to survive among them. Knowing your own self-worth is crucial as it will provide a foundation for resilience. And you most certainly are going to need that if you want to survive.
It’s why I survived day one, unlike so many of you. That day, as I sat on my front porch, sipping my morning coffee as I always had, I witnessed them soaring over my farm. I jumped from my rocking chair, so scared my eyes were betraying me, but nope, there they were … inky, spindly like creatures with thin tentacles soaring through the sky, on their own accord, like wet ink streaking on a blank canvas. They moved so oddly, like an octopus does when it’s swimming, a sort of propulsion, only for them, the sky was their ocean.
It was the scariest and most satisfying moment of my old life.
For you, I imagine it was only terror. Most wouldn’t survive the night, what with these things blending into the night sky like that. You’re never going to see them coming. But … I suspect you know that by now.
Still, I can’t help but be curious … but I guess I’ll have to leave it to my imagination because on that day, when chaos erupted and the entire world panicked. I hadn’t. I simply went underground.
For me, that day was an awakening. I was no longer insane, as you people so desperately thought. I wasn’t the man you looked at with narrow eyes as I piled loads of water into the bed of my truck. Nor was I the man you laughed at as I stood in the middle of town, offering warning after warning. Or the man you scoffed at as you passed my farm into town, disregarding the signs in my front yard.
No, in that moment I became real. Valid. Important. Which brings me to rule two.
Rule #2: Minimize your visibility.
You see, all those years of me trying to warn you, I was actually maximizing my visibility. Now, as I ponder it, I don’t really know why I even tried. Back then, it was to do my best to save humankind. But now, after all I’ve endured from you, I’ve realized humankind is a joke. There’s nothing kind about us. I suppose that’s one reason they came here.
While you’re up there, make sure to do the opposite of what I did all those years, and instead, do what I’m doing down here … avoid being seen. I’m sure by now you’ve had your moment of panic, where all you could think of was running, but doing so only creates visibility. You’re attracting attention. It’s best to save your breath for when the danger is most in front of you. When you can, move stealthily, preferably during the day, which makes minimizing your visibility even harder. But it’s the only way you’ll see those things. Just do your best to blend in with your surroundings. Wear camouflage attire if you have it. Find cover in any way you can. And most importantly … avoid making loud noises.
I hate to say it, but your banging on my door is already breaking this rule. It would surprise me if you made it to the end of my letter. I’m going to keep writing though, as I know someone else will … eventually.
This is the pleasure of being overly-prepared. Everyday my resilience enhances as I realize I have everything I need to survive down here. While yours will be tested. I’d planned for this moment for decades.
Rule #3: Be prepared to adapt.
You already failed by not preparing for their arrival. Don’t do it again. Every encounter with these things will be essential. If you’re able, analyze their behavior. Knowing what they’re capable of is the only way to know how to adapt and develop countermeasures. They could be here to take over or to destroy us. Be prepared to adapt to either scenario. And if by some miracle you find yourself alive, then like me, you’ll want to plan for your long-term survival.
Rule #4: Seek safe havens.
You already did this, which means you’ve survived well thus far. Unfortunately for you, however, you chose the wrong safe haven. Consider instead regions with a high military-to-civilian ratio. These areas will be better equipped to defend themselves. My choice would be Virginia. From my research, Virginia offers the highest chance of survival. They have the third most military residents. Many forests that will offer cover so you can hide. And healthy access to water. So, head there. And if you find refuge, then my next rule should be easy.
Rule #5: Work together.
I know, as crazy as it may sound coming from me, this rule is important. Rarely does one survive by themselves. Even I know this. But I know the risk I’m taking. And to be frank, I’m simply being spiteful. I know, how human of me. But that’s why I’m writing these tips. I don’t have to help you, and I really shouldn’t, but I’m choosing to, as hard as it may be. So, be thankful.
You should probably revisit rule number one here, as you most certainly will over time, but doing so when finding a haven is important because you’re going to need to show how selfless you are. They don’t need another selfish mouth to feed. Only you know your own self-worth, and this is the best time to show it.
If you make it this far, and are living among others, helping to survive them, then you will have learned a valuable lesson. You’re welcome. If only you would’ve listened to me earlier …
Now, for my last rule, which may seem contradictory, and will require you to rely only on your gut.
Rule #6: Don’t trust easily.
Be cautious of strangers. Their invasion will definitely bring out the worst in people. This letter is proof of that. It’s why I won’t let in. Sure, there’s the being spiteful I mentioned earlier, too, but mostly it’s because I don’t trust you. Don’t judge. You hadn’t trusted me either. I suppose that’s another weakness for us humans. We never know whom to trust except our own gut. And my gut tells me I shouldn’t open my door. And I’m not about to betray the only thing I trust.
So, instead, I’m choosing to write you this letter, which I’ll post to the single window on my front door. I just need to wait for you to … I just can't see your face again. Was hard enough the first time, seeing you panic as I came back down. Only a matter of time really, before they find you. I suspect I won’t have to wait much longer. I know, not very kind of me.
I’m sorry.
And to anyone else reading this letter. Please don’t bang on my door. It’s futile. I will not let you in. Your banging will only kill you faster. Just imprint these rules into your brain or write them down, and ensure you abide by them. They will show you how to survive.
I wish you only luck out there. Lord knows you’ll need it more than these rules if you don’t want to meet your untimely end.
From the man you’ll know only as … End-Timer.