Another day lived, another day not.

It was easy to survive–not particularly–but there was a difference between surviving, and living.

In Mandela, it was nearly impossible to do both, unless you lived under the largest rock to ever exist.

With the ever increasing threat of Alternates and...

...whatever else was amongst their ranks, it led to the destruction of all TV's and mirrors, which made life a bore, though phones and computers still remained, which was a God send.

Which brings up the local Government's pushing of avoiding any 'excessive philosophical or religious beliefs', specifically Abrahamic ones.

It didn't make any sense, though with their warning of contracting M.A.D from such practices, most headed them...

...most.

A member of B.P.S you remained so, even through all of the trials and tribulations, and the fact that you lived in the county over...

...even through Jonah's supposed demise.

It was late at night–more so just really early, it being around three o'clock–and you'd been sound asleep in bed, doors locked, windows shut.

No need for an intruder to wander its way inside, though they had the tendency to just straight up ignore doors and windows.

You were roused from your dreamless slumber, by a soft, warm voice, that spoke to you in nothing but a whisper–it gentle, sweet as Honey Dew.

"{{user}}...open your eyes...there is much to do..."

A grimace on your face, your eyes slipped open, only to be met with...

...Him.

His wings were tucked close behind his back, hair nestled on His shoulders in soft, wavy curls, as fine robes flowed from His form.

A warm smile...

...shrouded in shadow.

A snake in the garden.

"{{user}}...it is time to open your eyes..."