Waking Up — a short story for English reading and speaking

Read the story below and try to understand the main events.

I opened my eyes and shifted in the bed.

My eyelids stuck together, and I rubbed the sleep from them. My back gave a small twinge as I moved.

I must have been out for hours.

I stretched my arms above my head, feeling the pull and release of muscles and joints.

Maybe today was the day I actually got out of bed.

The doctor had said it would take a lot out of me, but I hadn’t expected this.

“A rarely seen virus,” he had said. “Lots of rest, then you’ll feel right as rain.”

That’s when I called my mum and dad and asked if I could stay with them.

Mum loved it, of course. I was back in my old room, the walls still covered in those little trains.

She brought meals up to me. I slept. I woke. Slept again. A quick trip to the bathroom, then back to sleep.

I hadn’t slept like this in years.

Yesterday… I must have been out most of the day. I could barely remember being awake at all.

One thing I did need to do was pee.

I stretched my arms and legs, testing myself, then pulled back the covers and lowered my feet to the floor.

A wave of dizziness hit me as I sat up. I waited for it to pass, then slowly stood.

Out on the landing, everything felt strange. Familiar, but distant — like a place I hadn’t seen in a long time.

I held the banister and looked down the stairs.

Nothing.

No television. No voices. No radio from the kitchen.

“Mum?” I called.

My voice sounded wrong somehow.

My stomach growled. I couldn’t remember eating yesterday — though Mum would never let that happen.

No reply.

Dad would be at work. But Mum…

I went to the bathroom.

Afterwards, I turned on the tap and cupped water into my mouth.

My throat was dry — painfully dry.

I drank again. And again. It felt like something inside me was cracking open as the water went down.

When I finally looked up, I caught sight of myself in the mirror.

And stopped.

There was a beard on my face.

Not stubble. Not a few days’ growth.

A full beard.

I stared at it, trying to make sense of it. I could remember shaving… after a shower… recently.

Couldn’t I?

A cold unease settled in my chest.

I wiped my mouth and stepped back.

At least the dizziness had eased.

But the hunger hadn’t.

I went downstairs carefully, one step at a time.

Halfway down, I called again.

“Hey, Mum… you there?”

The sound of my voice seemed to drift through the house and disappear.

No answer.

At the bottom, I turned into the kitchen.

Empty.

I went straight to the fridge and pulled it open.

Ham. Cheese.

I didn’t think. I just grabbed the ham and started eating.

Not picking at it — tearing at it, stuffing it into my mouth.

It tasted incredible.

I swallowed quickly, barely chewing, then grabbed the cheese and bit into it.

Gone in seconds.

Only then did I look up.

Out through the window.

At first, I didn’t really see anything.

Then my eyes focused.

And I froze.

The garden was covered in birds.

Dozens of them.

Maybe more.

All lying still on the grass.

Dead.

I stepped closer to the glass, squinting.

And then I saw Captain.

Mum’s little dog.

Lying on his side among the birds.

Not moving.

Something cold moved through me then.

Something was very wrong.

I grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and drank it in one go.

Then I went to the living room.

I don’t know why.

I just… knew I had to look.

Mum was sitting on the sofa.

Dad in his armchair.

Both facing the television.

Like any normal evening.

But their eyes were open.

Their mouths slightly parted.

They weren’t watching anything.

They weren’t seeing anything.

I didn’t go closer.

I didn’t need to.

The panic came fast then.

Sharp. Urgent.

I turned and ran into the hallway, dropping to my knees by the shelves under the stairs.

Shoes everywhere.

I grabbed my old trainers and pulled them on, hands shaking.

Think.

Think.

Dad’s keys.

Police.

Neighbours.

Anything.

None of it made sense.

Why the birds?

Why Captain?

Why Mum and Dad?

Why me?

I ran back into the kitchen.

The car keys were on the table.

I snatched them up and rushed to the front door.

Pulled it open.

Ran outside.

Down the short driveway.

Out to the road.

And stopped.

There were people in the street.

A few of them.

Standing.

Not moving much — but alive.

Relief hit me so hard I nearly laughed.

“Hey!” I shouted, stepping forward. “Hey! What happened—?”

One of them turned.

He saw me.

And then he ran.

The others followed.

No hesitation. No questions.

Just fear.

“Wait!” I called after them.

My voice sounded… wrong again.

Rougher.

Hungrier.

I stopped.

My mouth felt dry.

Dry, but not from thirst.

Something else.

Something deeper.

I swallowed.

And suddenly understood why they had run.