When All Was Lost

By Amin Hammani

In the beginning, humanity did not understand what was about to happen. The clouds on the horizon took on vibrant colors that touched every shade of blue. No one wondered why those steel-colored cumulonimbus clouds existed; humans were too busy to stop and look at the sky. Wars continued, the number of victims increased,pollution grew, but thesmoke from the chimneys showed no sign of ending. And meanwhile, the clouds moved undisturbed, sowing death and madness in their path. It all started (or, more properly, ended) like this.

 

In 'When All Was Lost,' an apocalyptic mystery unfolds through the eyes of Gregorio, Beatrice, and Angelo, thrust into darkness as the world edges toward oblivion. Amidst skies that spell doom and a silence that drowns out hope, their journey is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. Navigating through the remnants of a crumbling society, they face enigmatic threats and form unlikely alliances. This tale delves deep into the mysteries of survival, unity, and the indomitable will to endure in the face of the unfathomable. As they confront the unknown, the true challenge lies not in the shadows that stalk them but in the light they seek to find within.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Orizzonti Magrebini Edizioni
• Release date: Apr 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9798224601189

Amin Hammani

Amin Hammani is an Italo-Moroccan writer, known for his work "La Città Senza Donne" His career has been marked by works such as "Era la Fine di Tutto" and "La Vendetta del Titano." Born on January 8, 2001, in Cirié, his literary career took off in 2016 when, at the age of just 15, he made his debut in the world of writing with the publication of the novel "La Vendetta del Titano." This work marked the beginning of a promising literary career. Subsequently, in 2017, Hammani published "Era la Fine di Tutto," a work that represented a significant turning point in his career, garnering notable success. Despite the change of country in 2017, when he moved to France with his family, Hammani continued to nurture his passion for writing while pursuing studies in computer science at the University of Montpellier. His remarkable ability to create captivating stories and his creative vision have inspired numerous readers and professionals in the entertainment industry. In October 2023, he introduced his latest novel to the public, "La Città Senza Donne," a promising work that continues to captivate audiences with its intriguing and engaging plot.

Book preview

When All Was Lost

Amin Hammani

Orizzonti Magrebini Edizioni

Copyright © 2017 Amin Hammani

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

ISBN-13: 9781234567890

ISBN-10: 1477123456

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Gregorio's Survival Journal

Prologue

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

EPILOGUE

Gregorio's Survival Journal

Prologue

In the beginning, humanity did not understand what was about to happen. The clouds on the horizon took on vibrant colors that touched every shade of blue. No one wondered why those steel-colored cumulonimbus clouds existed; humans were too busy to stop and look at the sky. Wars continued, the number of victims increased, pollution grew, but the smoke from the chimneys showed no sign of ending. And meanwhile, the clouds moved undisturbed, sowing death and madness in their path. It all started (or, more properly, ended) like this.

CHAPTER 1

It was a summer afternoon, one of those days when the air vibrates with heat and the horizon shimmers like a mirage. I found myself standing in the midst of a wheat field, vast and golden, stretching far beyond the reach of sight. The field was an ocean of gold under the expansive blue sky, and at its heart, Beatrice and I stood side by side, adventurers in a world that seemed too small for our dreams.

The farmer who owned this land, a septuagenarian named Jim Stones, had recently made headlines in our small community by reporting an alien invasion to the local police. He demanded the mobilization of not just the local authorities but the army, secret services, and the collective might of world governments. Little did Jim realize, his frantic calls were intercepted not by the intended recipients, but by two curious souls, Beatrice and I, whose appetite for adventure knew no bounds.

Our makeshift radio setup, a testament to countless hours of tinkering and enthusiasm for the airwaves, had captured Jim's distressed transmissions. Part boredom, part insatiable curiosity, we were drawn to his field like moths to a flame. The moment called for investigation, for who could resist the allure of a potential alien encounter right in their backyard?

As for Beatrice Fenwich, mere words struggle to encapsulate her essence. She was a force of nature, a spirit as free as the wind that danced through the wheat around us. Her emerald green eyes sparkled with intelligence and mischief, set in a face that could easily grace the canvas of Renaissance painters. Her hair, a vibrant cascade of copper curls, framed her features perfectly, complementing her athletic build. Our relationship was a tapestry of unspoken words and shared glances, a dance of two souls perfectly in sync, yet never crossing the threshold into something more. It was a delicate balance, one that we both cherished deeply.

Beatrice's intellect was unparalleled, her curiosity boundless. Among the myriad of individuals I had encountered in my life, she stood in a league of her own. Her thoughts and actions were a constant source of wonder and inspiration to me. She was, unequivocally, one of the pillars of my existence. Another was my penchant for seeking out the unusual and the unexplained, a trait that often led me to the doorsteps of eccentric characters like Jim. The third pillar? Well, that's a story for another time.

Our journey to Jim's field that evening was marked by anticipation and the thrill of the unknown. The sky, painted with hues of orange and purple as the sun dipped low, served as a perfect backdrop for our adventure. Despite the charged atmosphere, the anticipation between Beatrice and me was not born of romantic tension but from a shared excitement for what lay ahead.

The field itself was a testament to Jim's dedication to his craft. Divided into quadrants, each section told a story of careful planning and hard work. The quadrant that faced west, basking in the glow of the setting sun, was a sea of wheat spikes, their golden heads swaying gently in the breeze. It was in this natural amphitheater that we found ourselves, surrounded by nature's bounty.

As we ventured deeper into the field, a pattern emerged among the wheat, a deliberate design that seemed to whisper secrets of its own. The idea of extraterrestrial architects crossed my mind, only to be dismissed with a chuckle. I knew the true architect all too well – my younger brother, a master of pranks and mischief.

Beatrice, ever the astute observer, caught on to the ruse immediately. Her laughter, genuine and unguarded, filled the air, a sound I found infinitely more captivating than any potential alien signal. Together, we ventured towards the heart of the pattern, each step taking us deeper into a mystery of our own making.

It was there, amidst the golden wheat, that our gaze turned towards the horizon. The setting sun, a fiery orb descending into the embrace of the earth, cast a magical glow over everything it touched. And that's when I saw them – the clouds. Not ordinary clouds, but something entirely different, something... otherworldly.

CHAPTER 2

As the shadows lengthened and the sun's final rays kissed the earth farewell, an unusual stillness settled over the landscape. Beatrice, standing by my side, was the first to break the silence, her voice a soft whisper against the backdrop of the quieting world.

And what in the world could those be? she murmured, her gaze fixed on the horizon where the clouds gathered like dark omens. Her skin carried the scent of fresh snow, a stark contrast to the warmth emanating from her coppery hair in the fading light.

I'll be damned if I know, I admitted, squinting against the dying light to make out the forms that marred the otherwise serene sky. The clouds, or at least the indistinct masses that loomed on the horizon, were tinted the same shade of deep blue as my father's old van. That particular hue of night sky had always been among my favorites, a reminder of countless family trips under the stars.

You might think it's a storm, you logically conclude. Hasn't he ever seen a summer thunderstorm before? I assure you, it was anything but. If you had stood there beside Beatrice and me, you would have understood that these were no ordinary rain clouds.

First, their movement was unlike any meteorological pattern I had ever seen, shifting with an almost sentient intent rather than the whims of the wind. And second, they lacked the characteristic flash and rumble of lightning and thunder that usually heralded a storm's approach. Moreover, the absolute silence that enveloped everything was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It was as if nature itself had paused, holding its breath in anticipation of what was to come.

Sensing the gravity of the situation, Beatrice gently suggested we seek shelter.

Perhaps we should find cover, she said, her voice carrying an undercurrent of urgency. Her approach to life was unique; she never insisted or demanded but instead offered her thoughts as mere possibilities, leaving the ultimate decision to others. It was a trait I had come to respect deeply, and her intuition had never steered us wrong. This time was no exception.

With a shared sense of urgency, we made our way back to my family's old farmhouse, a structure that had become my sole inheritance following the tragic loss of my parents. At twenty, I found myself navigating the world alone, save for the companionship of my brother and Beatrice. While the absence of my family left a void that could never be filled, I had learned to cherish the freedom and solitude that came with my newfound independence.

The farmhouse, standing solemn against the twilight sky, welcomed us with the familiar bark of Anubis, my faithful German Shepherd. Named after the Egyptian deity, Anubis embodied the loyalty and protective spirit of his namesake. Beatrice had a soft spot for him, and even in the face of our growing apprehension, she