Chapter 1-49 Creative Writing

"Are you reading this? If you are, then you have woken. You have been in a coma for 23 years. Everything you've ever seen, felt, heard or tasted was a hallucination. Your friends weren't real. Neither were your wife, your children. Your family. The world had ended, and you were the only survivor. Chances of survival are extremely low for you in the next Century. You are survivor number 50. The last one. 49 have been killed, with no traces. Wiped from the face of earth.
If I were you, I would stab myself immediately. What is the point of living in a wasteland? But I can't make you do that. I am just a voice in your head. The voice of Truth. Do not listen to the voice of Lies. Never."

As you blink from confusion, your vision becomes clear. What is the voice of Lies? How do you tell between the voice of Truth and the voice of Lies? Impossible. You sit in an upright position on a metal cot, the metal brown from a thick layer of rust. All around you, there are pools of red and shattered glass. The side of your cot reads 'Survivor 50.' To your left are the same types of cots, each with the word survivor and a number from 1-49.

You look around anxiously, only to find nobody in sight. Find the exit. Got it. But was that the Truth or the Lies? Only one way to find out. If you die, so what? There's nothing to live for. Not anymore. Your hallucinational life was perfect, kind glowing parents, a beautiful wife and playful children. 13 of them. None of them were real. They were just an image projected in your mind. You slip in a pool of red. Your back slams into it, causing a large red stain to form on your clothing. You get up, not knowing what the substance is. As you look around for an exit, you can see bodies hanging from nooses and people impaled by weapons of all cruelty. A dead body hanging from a noose suddenly jerks it's head, the action fading away as fast as it came. Finally, you sigh. A worn out door meets your