It was the last Christmas we enjoyed.

The day they arrived we lost our fun, and our joy. There was no more laugh and there were no more games.

I still remember the sweet chocolate smell and the frozen fruit cake, still pristine—awaiting—in the middle of the table. My grandma’s stare, looking at the window, and the sound, like a note hanging in midair, bursting everything at once and stopping our hearts but for a second.

I was just thirteen years old at that time and thought of myself as a man. Luckily, they thought otherwise, for when the bodies of all adults, all men and women, felt down to the ground, lifeless, eyes opened and staring at the night, none of them was younger than fourteen,

That was the day we became the last generation alive on the Earth.

Some of us decided to fight back. I was among them. We failed terribly, and we failed often. I soon became one of the oldest ones and I was to be fourteen soon. The fear of dying, of failing down bearing that last stare, filled my sleep with dread and nightmares. And yet I had to go on.

They chased us with dogs, and they chased us with machines I could not understand. It was a land without adults, without proper food. There was no Internet to join, nor any game consoles to lost our minds into.

There have been some victories, I should say. But for each score of us lost, we bring just one of them down. And our numbers grow slowly, while theirs multiply with each landing.

But hope has not been let go. Perhaps. There was some intel and were ordered to follow it. Don’t ask me how, but never will I see a six-year-old again and think of them of just some kid.

There was a long road to be traveled and few of us managed to arrive till the end. Fewer still were healthy (as much healthy as one can get) when we got to the station and secured its premises. They saw as coming, though. Their ships moved towards us and I knew that if they reached us first, it would be truly over.

I can't wait more.

I split my party in half and one of them rushes to the front, wielding guns and grenades. They grew playing war games on their consoles and think of themselves as strategists. I think of them as dead meat, and I hate it, but there’s nothing else and this ends here. And now.

I see the ships from the outside getting ready to fire. I see my other team setting up the charges that, if ignited at time, would explode and severe their circuits and bring down hell for them. And it would be, at last, a beginning for our fight. But I also see them as they are: inexperience children dealing with technology designed for people with ten times their expertise and training. It’s a worthy scene to watch, and it’s a gamble we, humankind, the children, have been called to make.

As for me, I know my end is near.

Ten seconds now, and their first batch runs into our outlet, firing all their plasma guns. Six seconds, and our team finishes setting up the bomb and starts pressing buttons. Three seconds and our front squad is decimated, their skin glowing red and flashing to blue and then there’s only ashes where their bodies breathed moments ago. Two seconds, and the charges are all set and a big red button is being pressed.

One second left.

I see them entering the room and crying in their high-pitched language and shrieking as only they can do. And realizing what we are about to do.

Zero seconds now.

Happy birthday to me.