End of the world story ideas, one per press: what ended it, who is left, their shelter, goal and setback.
Apocalypse Story Ideas: 30 story ideas
The fuel ran out before anyone agreed what to do. A child who found a book with pictures of airplanes is holding out on an islet with a single landing stage, trying to build a walkway of planks from roof to roof, until the only cart loses a wheel a day from anywhere.
Padlock: keep a part.Arrows: change only that part.
What ended itthe fuel ran out before anyone agreed what to do
Who is leftchild who found a book with pictures of airplanes
Holding outon an islet with a single landing stage
Trying tobuild a walkway of planks from roof to roof
Untilthe only cart loses a wheel a day from anywhere
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Story Idea of the day
The fuel ran out before anyone agreed what to do. A child who found a book with pictures of airplanes is holding out on an islet with a single landing stage, trying to build a walkway of planks from roof to roof, until the only cart loses a wheel a day from anywhere.
The bees vanished and the orchards went with them. A bell ringer who signals which streets are open is holding out in a high-rise with crops on every balcony, trying to keep a clock wound so the town agrees on the hour, until someone starts hoarding the lamp oil.
The rain kept falling until the rivers joined up. A storyteller who walks between the hill villages is holding out in a mountain inn with its gate barred, trying to get a whole kindergarten across the park by dusk, until a crowd on the road turns round for no clear reason.
The slow dead came out of the fog toward any sound. A scavenger who trades in unbroken window glass is holding out in a bakery whose oven burns wood, trying to build a walkway of planks from roof to roof, until lights appear in a tower that has been dark for ages.
The old language survives only on rusted signs. A well digger chasing water that keeps sinking is holding out in a caravan parked upwind of everything, trying to get a letter past a closed border, until lights appear in a tower that has been dark for ages.
The power went out one evening and never came back. A kid with a wagon full of wind-up toys is holding out in a water park with the slides drained, trying to find the city the old songs call the place of lights, until a neighbor's goats get through the fence.
The satellites fell silent and nobody could fix them. An elder who claims to have seen an electric light is holding out in an aircraft hangar divided into cottages, trying to restart a water pump for six streets, until a guarded town line is moved two miles closer.
The dead got up and started walking, slowly. A pharmacist's apprentice who memorized the labels is holding out in a fire lookout on stilts, trying to carry a crate of salvaged books to the hill schools, until the only cart loses a wheel a day from anywhere.
Something woke the cemeteries and would not let them rest. A herbalist whose garden still grows true is holding out in the shell of a stadium planted with barley, trying to chart which roads are still above water, until the wind changes and brings the dust back.
Sleepwalkers who never woke filled the streets. An apprentice to the last person who can read is holding out in a caravan parked upwind of everything, trying to copy the last atlas before it falls apart, until floodwater brings a drifting house to the door.
The rain kept falling until the rivers joined up. A country nurse with one bag of supplies is holding out in a fire lookout on stilts, trying to build a walkway of planks from roof to roof, until a gate chain rusts through in the damp.
The farm animals fell ill and the barns went quiet. A scarecrow maker whose decoys can fool anyone at dusk is holding out in a bell tower with the ladder pulled up, trying to recover a toolbox left on a stalled train, until the last quiet street fills up overnight.
The seasons came loose and now arrive in any order. A gardener growing beans in gutters and old boots is holding out beside a dam that still hums at night, trying to graft apple cuttings onto wild crab trees, until the last box of candles is opened.
The networks went away and took the maps with them. A barge pilot who knows which landings are still open is holding out in a boarding school emptied mid-term, trying to cross a long iron bridge without making a sound, until the one ladder cracks on its third rung.
The maps all end where the ancestors stopped drawing. A tugboat skipper who has charted the new coastline is holding out in a bakery whose oven burns wood, trying to find a town that never shut its gates, until the only mechanic for fifty miles decides to leave.
Ash from a far volcano dimmed a decade of summers. A volunteer who chalks a mark on each doorstep visited is holding out in a grain silo anchored against the wind, trying to reach a ferry that leaves at dawn, until a rival crew reaches the high ground first.
A sickness of the soil left gardens growing only thistles. A teenager from a barge family who minds its one goat is holding out in a tree house forty rungs up, trying to reopen a road that only fear keeps closed, until a warehouse they counted on holds only empty crates.
The last broadcast was a weather report on a loop. A baker rationing the last sacks of flour is holding out in a ski lodge buried to its upper windows, trying to follow slow footprints to wherever they are heading, until the water rises one floor overnight.
The cities are quarries now, mined for glass and wire. A country nurse with one bag of supplies is holding out in an orchard behind a ring of lavender, trying to rebuild a windmill from a drawing on a tin, until the last quiet street fills up overnight.
A fever swept through in a single season. A sled-dog handler with one team left is holding out in a roundhouse thatched with road signs, trying to discover why the elders forbid the glass towers, until the water rises one floor overnight.
The last machine wound down before anyone here was born. A twelve-year-old who built a bicycle generator is holding out on an islet with a single landing stage, trying to settle which village owns a bridge, until floodwater brings a drifting house to the door.
A blight took the wheat, then the rice, then the corn. An ice fisher who reads a frozen lake like a map is holding out in a ski lodge buried to its upper windows, trying to fetch a pair of glasses left across town, until a traveler turns up who has seen the sea.
Nobody could agree on the date, and the calendar lapsed. A well digger chasing water that keeps sinking is holding out in a sealed glasshouse full of lemon trees, trying to rebuild a windmill from a drawing on a tin, until a stranger speaks the old language fluently.
The wind never dropped below a gale again. A scarecrow maker whose decoys can fool anyone at dusk is holding out in a customs house on a breakwater, trying to rebuild a windmill from a drawing on a tin, until the town council splits over who is in charge.
The dead rose, drawn only to noise and lamplight. A shepherd leading a flock up to the snowline is holding out in a bank vault with the door wedged open, trying to trade for a tool nobody remembers how to make, until a guarded town line is moved two miles closer.
The farm animals fell ill and the barns went quiet. A scavenger who trades in unbroken window glass is holding out in a mountain inn with its gate barred, trying to dig a well deep enough to outlast the drought, until a rival village digs up the same road.
The ruins have been ruins for a hundred harvests. A gravedigger who noticed the change before anyone else is holding out in a caravan parked upwind of everything, trying to move a village uphill before the next spring tide, until fog rolls in and slow footsteps come from every side.
The phones rang once, all together, then never again. A teenager from a barge family who minds its one goat is holding out in a tree house forty rungs up, trying to carry a message to a town that may not be there, until the smell of baking carries farther than anyone meant.
The power went out one evening and never came back. A pharmacist's apprentice who memorized the labels is holding out in a subway station sealed with snow, trying to bring a schoolteacher past a guarded town line, until a trader offers a price that is too good.
Ivy has been pulling the last bridges down for decades. A child who found a book with pictures of airplanes is holding out in a tool shed the size of a barn, trying to string a telegraph wire between two towns, until the only cart loses a wheel a day from anywhere.
the cities emptied quietly, one moving van at a time
every screen went dark in the same minute
the fuel ran out before anyone agreed what to do
the grid failed in midsummer and stayed down
the last broadcast was a weather report on a loop
money stopped meaning anything inside a single week
the networks went away and took the maps with them
nobody could agree on the date, and the calendar lapsed
the phones rang once, all together, then never again
the power went out one evening and never came back
the satellites fell silent and nobody could fix them
the trucks stopped coming and the shelves stayed bare
Flood, ice and weather 12
a dust storm settled over the plains for good
ash from a far volcano dimmed a decade of summers
glaciers crept down into the farm valleys
the great rivers shrank to a chain of puddles
lightning storms began crossing the land on a timetable
the rain kept falling until the rivers joined up
the sea rose until the coast was a row of rooftops
the seasons came loose and now arrive in any order
the sun grew too fierce to walk under at noon
the tides doubled and took the harbors
the wind never dropped below a gale again
winter arrived and did not leave for nine years
The sickness 12
a blight took the wheat, then the rice, then the corn
a cough closed every border within a week
a fever swept through in a single season
a gray mold claimed the granaries first
a quarantine was declared and never lifted
a sickness of the soil left gardens growing only thistles
a sleeping sickness left most people dreaming
an illness that stole voices left the world whispering
the bees vanished and the orchards went with them
the farm animals fell ill and the barns went quiet
people began forgetting how to read, town by town
the water turned bitter in every well at once
The restless dead 12
the buried began knocking, politely at first
the dead got up and started walking, slowly
the dead rose, drawn only to noise and lamplight
every town woke to slow footsteps in the road
the graveyards emptied on the first warm night
the old tales about the restless dead came true
the restless dead gathered in the market square
the risen dead outnumbered the living by harvest
shambling figures arrived with the autumn mist
sleepwalkers who never woke filled the streets
the slow dead came out of the fog toward any sound
something woke the cemeteries and would not let them rest
Long after: the regrown world 12
the cities are quarries now, mined for glass and wire
the deer came back, then the wolves, then the quiet
the forest grew back over the highways long ago
the great collapse is now a rhyme for skipping rope
ivy has been pulling the last bridges down for decades
the last machine wound down before anyone here was born
the maps all end where the ancestors stopped drawing
the moon still carries lights nobody can explain
nobody alive remembers what the towers were for
the old language survives only on rusted signs
the old world is three grandmothers back
the ruins have been ruins for a hundred harvests
How this list was compiled
Each entry is a whole clause that says how the old world ended, so it stands as the first sentence of a result. Original list written for Draw This Next on 2026-10-03. The five headings (the quiet end, flood, ice and weather, the sickness, the restless dead, long after) are shared by all five lists of the page. Every entry was made up for this list and is written so a twelve-year-old could read it: nothing graphic, no injury, no cruelty and no weapon, and no entry describes a death. No book, film, game or show world is named or copied. What apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic fiction is (stories in which a civilization is collapsing or has collapsed, with post-apocalyptic stories often set in which mere scraps of society and technology are left) was read on 2026-10-03 in the article Apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic fiction of the English Wikipedia (en.wikipedia.org; text free to reuse under CC BY-SA 4.0). Licence: own work
Who is left: all 60 survivors
The quiet end: no power, no signal 12
baker rationing the last sacks of flour
clockmaker keeping one town on the same hour
crossing guard still stopping traffic that never comes
former chimney sweep who knows every rooftop in town
grandmother with a working hand-crank radio
harbor master relighting the buoys by hand
librarian guarding the last printed atlas
mail carrier still delivering three-year-old letters
piano tuner who finds the way by ear
radio repairer with a drawer of dead batteries
retired switchboard operator who remembers the numbers
twelve-year-old who built a bicycle generator
Flood, ice and weather 12
beekeeper moving hives ahead of the frost
gardener growing beans in gutters and old boots
ice fisher who reads a frozen lake like a map
kite maker who reads the wind for a living
sandbag captain of a street that refuses to flood
shepherd leading a flock up to the snowline
sled-dog handler with one team left
storm chaser who finally stopped chasing
teenage weather-watcher with a notebook of skies
teenager from a barge family who minds its one goat
tugboat skipper who has charted the new coastline
well digger chasing water that keeps sinking
The sickness 12
barge pilot who knows which landings are still open
bell ringer who signals which streets are open
child who runs notes between houses that no longer visit
circus vet now tending a whole valley's animals
country nurse with one bag of supplies
grandfather who has lived through hard years before
herbalist whose garden still grows true
laboratory cleaner who kept the notebooks
pharmacist's apprentice who memorized the labels
schoolteacher giving lessons through a window
seed keeper with jars of clean grain
volunteer who chalks a mark on each doorstep visited
The restless dead 12
bicycle courier faster than anything on foot
choir singer who has learned to hum without sound
gravedigger who noticed the change before anyone else
great-aunt who refuses to tiptoe for anyone
kid with a wagon full of wind-up toys
locksmith who has bolted an entire street
marching-band drummer who can lead a crowd away
night watchman who still walks the old rounds by lantern
scarecrow maker whose decoys can fool anyone at dusk
school janitor with keys to the whole building
steeplejack who trusts rooftops more than streets
stilt walker from a circus that never left town
Long after: the regrown world 12
apprentice to the last person who can read
bridge warden paid in firewood and gossip
child who found a book with pictures of airplanes
elder who claims to have seen an electric light
goatherd grazing a flock on an overgrown runway
honey trader whose hives sit in a rusted bus
keeper of a seed vault nobody remembers building
scavenger who trades in unbroken window glass
storyteller who walks between the hill villages
tinker who mends pots with old-world wire
wandering judge who settles quarrels for a meal
young mapmaker redrawing the coast from scratch
How this list was compiled
Each entry is one survivor, with no article in front, so the sentence can add "A" or "An". This list is the character half of a result. Original list written for Draw This Next on 2026-10-03. The five headings (the quiet end, flood, ice and weather, the sickness, the restless dead, long after) are shared by all five lists of the page. Every entry was made up for this list and is written so a twelve-year-old could read it: nothing graphic, no injury, no cruelty and no weapon, and no entry describes a death. No book, film, game or show world is named or copied. What apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic fiction is (stories in which a civilization is collapsing or has collapsed, with post-apocalyptic stories often set in which mere scraps of society and technology are left) was read on 2026-10-03 in the article Apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic fiction of the English Wikipedia (en.wikipedia.org; text free to reuse under CC BY-SA 4.0). Licence: own work
Holding out: all 60 shelters
The quiet end: no power, no signal 12
in a bakery whose oven burns wood
in a bank vault with the door wedged open
in a boarding school emptied mid-term
in a broadcast booth that picks up only static
in a ferry terminal with the timetable still posted
in a hilltop observatory with no power
in a library with the shutters down
in a lighthouse whose lens they polish daily
in a signal box beside a silent railway
in a supermarket lit by skylights
in a tool shed the size of a barn
in a windmill that grinds for three farms
Flood, ice and weather 12
in a cave system that stays one temperature
in a clock tower that is now an island
in a grain silo anchored against the wind
in a greenhouse dug half into a hillside
in a root cellar fitted with a homemade periscope
in a ski lodge buried to its upper windows
in a subway station sealed with snow
in a water tower above the dust
in the penthouse of a half-drowned hotel
on a barge that drifts between drowned towns
on a chain of rooftops joined by plank bridges
on an oil platform turned into a village
The sickness 12
in a cabin above the snowline
in a caravan parked upwind of everything
in a customs house on a breakwater
in a farmhouse at the end of a chained-off lane
in a houseboat that never ties up
in a mountain inn with its gate barred
in a school gym turned into a dormitory
in a sealed glasshouse full of lemon trees
in a seed bank cut into a hillside
in a soap factory, the cleanest place for miles
in an orchard behind a ring of lavender
on an islet with a single landing stage
The restless dead 12
in a bell tower with the ladder pulled up
in a fire lookout on stilts
in a moated manor with the footbridge taken up
in a theater behind the safety curtain
in a toy shop with the grilles locked
in a tree house forty rungs up
in a water park with the slides drained
in a zoo's empty elephant house
inside a labyrinth of overgrown topiary
on a houseboat anchored midstream
on a pier with its middle section removed
on the roof of a department store
Long after: the regrown world 12
beside a dam that still hums at night
in a beached ship that serves as a town hall
in a high-rise with crops on every balcony
in a hill fort walled with flattened cars
in a market square under a patched circus tent
in a museum where the exhibits are furniture now
in a roundhouse thatched with road signs
in a subway tunnel where mushrooms are grown
in a treetop town above the old suburbs
in an aircraft hangar divided into cottages
in the shell of a stadium planted with barley
under a highway bridge hung with gardens
How this list was compiled
Each entry begins with a preposition and names a place to shelter, so it reads after "is holding out". Original list written for Draw This Next on 2026-10-03. The five headings (the quiet end, flood, ice and weather, the sickness, the restless dead, long after) are shared by all five lists of the page. Every entry was made up for this list and is written so a twelve-year-old could read it: nothing graphic, no injury, no cruelty and no weapon, and no entry describes a death. No book, film, game or show world is named or copied. What apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic fiction is (stories in which a civilization is collapsing or has collapsed, with post-apocalyptic stories often set in which mere scraps of society and technology are left) was read on 2026-10-03 in the article Apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic fiction of the English Wikipedia (en.wikipedia.org; text free to reuse under CC BY-SA 4.0). Licence: own work
Trying to: all 60 goals
The quiet end: no power, no signal 12
carry a message to a town that may not be there
copy the last atlas before it falls apart
find whoever keeps lighting a fire on the hill
get one generator running before winter
keep a clock wound so the town agrees on the hour
reach a radio tower on the far ridge
recover a toolbox left on a stalled train
restart a water pump for six streets
run a school with one book between thirty pupils
string a telegraph wire between two towns
trade candles for seed potatoes two valleys over
work out what the last broadcast was trying to say
Flood, ice and weather 12
chart which roads are still above water
dig a well deep enough to outlast the drought
ferry a midwife across a river that keeps widening
harvest a rooftop of beans before the hail
keep a glasshouse of seedlings from freezing
lead a herd over a pass before the snow closes it
locate a valley rumored to have ordinary seasons
move a village uphill before the next spring tide
plant a windbreak of a thousand saplings
rescue a neighbor's piano from a flooding house
row a library's worth of books to higher ground
walk far enough to learn whether the weather ever changes
The sickness 12
bring a schoolteacher past a guarded town line
carry a beehive to an orchard that has none
deliver clean seed to a town on the far shore
find a town that never shut its gates
find the one well that still runs sweet
gather what the old gardeners know before it is lost
get a letter past a closed border
keep a herd of goats apart from every other flock
nurse one stubborn patient through to spring
prove to a wary town that visitors are safe to admit
reach a laboratory whose lights were seen last week
reopen a road that only fear keeps closed
The restless dead 12
build a walkway of planks from roof to roof
cross a long iron bridge without making a sound
fetch a pair of glasses left across town
find a way across the river that makes no splash
find out why nothing ever goes near the old mill
follow slow footprints to wherever they are heading
get a whole kindergarten across the park by dusk
keep a schoolyard silent through one whole recess
map the streets that are safe to walk after dark
reach a ferry that leaves at dawn
silence a town bell that the wind keeps ringing
tend a rooftop garden without once being seen
Long after: the regrown world 12
bring back salt from a sea nobody has seen
carry a crate of salvaged books to the hill schools
coax one cough out of a salvaged tractor
discover why the elders forbid the glass towers
find the city the old songs call the place of lights
graft apple cuttings onto wild crab trees
learn to read the signs the ancestors left
rebuild a windmill from a drawing on a tin
see what is inside a sealed door in the hill
settle which village owns a bridge
trade for a tool nobody remembers how to make
walk a vine-covered track to wherever it ends
How this list was compiled
Each entry begins with a verb and reads after "trying to". Each is a journey or a task with an end, so it also works as a quest hook for a game. Original list written for Draw This Next on 2026-10-03. The five headings (the quiet end, flood, ice and weather, the sickness, the restless dead, long after) are shared by all five lists of the page. Every entry was made up for this list and is written so a twelve-year-old could read it: nothing graphic, no injury, no cruelty and no weapon, and no entry describes a death. No book, film, game or show world is named or copied. What apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic fiction is (stories in which a civilization is collapsing or has collapsed, with post-apocalyptic stories often set in which mere scraps of society and technology are left) was read on 2026-10-03 in the article Apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic fiction of the English Wikipedia (en.wikipedia.org; text free to reuse under CC BY-SA 4.0). Licence: own work
Until: all 60 setbacks
The quiet end: no power, no signal 12
a child finds a phone that still rings
a light comes on in a building that has no power
a neighboring town lays claim to the same spring
a radio crackles with a voice asking for them by name
a stranger arrives with a different map
a warehouse they counted on holds only empty crates
the last box of candles is opened
the only cart loses a wheel a day from anywhere
the only mechanic for fifty miles decides to leave
someone starts hoarding the lamp oil
the stores turn out to be half what the ledger says
the town council splits over who is in charge
Flood, ice and weather 12
a bridge washes out between them and home
a calm day arrives and nobody trusts it
a rival crew reaches the high ground first
a week of fog hides every landmark
an early thaw turns the only road to mud
floodwater brings a drifting house to the door
hail flattens the bean rows in ten minutes
the high pass drifts shut well before midwinter
the ice begins to sing, which means it is thinning
lightning takes the one tall tree they steer by
the water rises one floor overnight
the wind changes and brings the dust back
The sickness 12
a friend they rely on starts forgetting names
a guarded town line is moved two miles closer
a letter arrives saying the safe town was a rumor
a neighbor stops coming to the fence to talk
a neighbor's goats get through the fence
a stranger swears to be harmless and asks to come in
a traveler coughs at the gate
a warning flag goes up on their own roof
a well that ran sweet turns cloudy
someone who has slept for a year opens one eye
stored seed shows the first gray spots
word comes that the next valley reopened too soon
The restless dead 12
a crowd on the road turns round for no clear reason
a dropped saucepan rings like a dinner bell
a gate chain rusts through in the damp
a music box winds down at the worst moment
a rooster starts crowing and will not stop
a slow tapping starts on the shutters and keeps time
fog rolls in and slow footsteps come from every side
the last quiet street fills up overnight
the one ladder cracks on its third rung
slow figures stop at the gate and simply wait
the smell of baking carries farther than anyone meant
someone indoors starts sleepwalking
Long after: the regrown world 12
a machine in the hills wakes up and starts humming
a rival village digs up the same road
a rusted sign, once deciphered, says keep out
a salvaged engine starts and will not stop
a stranger speaks the old language fluently
a trader offers a price that is too good
a traveler turns up who has seen the sea
an old map turns out to have been held upside down
the elders declare the ruins off limits
frost arrives with half the barley still standing
lights appear in a tower that has been dark for ages
the river uncovers a buried street
How this list was compiled
Each entry is a whole clause in the present tense that brings its own nouns, so it reads after "until" whatever the other rows dealt. Original list written for Draw This Next on 2026-10-03. The five headings (the quiet end, flood, ice and weather, the sickness, the restless dead, long after) are shared by all five lists of the page. Every entry was made up for this list and is written so a twelve-year-old could read it: nothing graphic, no injury, no cruelty and no weapon, and no entry describes a death. No book, film, game or show world is named or copied. What apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic fiction is (stories in which a civilization is collapsing or has collapsed, with post-apocalyptic stories often set in which mere scraps of society and technology are left) was read on 2026-10-03 in the article Apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic fiction of the English Wikipedia (en.wikipedia.org; text free to reuse under CC BY-SA 4.0). Licence: own work
How it works
These apocalypse story ideas start once the old world has ended, which makes them post apocalypse story ideas too: a kite maker holding out in a seed bank, trying to string a telegraph wire between two towns.
Read the full guide
Five parts: the end, then the story
The first part says what ended the old world; the other four are the story. The survivor is a character with a trade and a habit, so it also works as an apocalypse character idea. Keep the survivor and the shelter; change the setback until staying put is no longer possible.
Five kinds of ending, mixed
Each list below is sorted under the quiet end, flood, ice and weather, the sickness, the restless dead, and long after. The tool mixes all five and cannot filter, so a honey trader may be holding out in a toy shop after the tides doubled. Read one heading down all five lists to keep to one kind.
The setback is where the story starts: write the hour before it.
Change only the first part: a baker after the bees vanished is not the same person as a baker after the flood.
Questions and answers
How are post apocalyptic story ideas different from apocalypse ones?
An apocalyptic story shows a civilization collapsing; a post-apocalyptic one is set after it has collapsed, often where only scattered pieces of society and technology remain. Every result here is the second kind. The Long after heading is set generations later.
Are there zombie apocalypse story ideas in the lists?
Yes. Twelve endings in the first list are the dead getting up: slow, drawn to sound, and nobody is hurt in any entry. For zombie story ideas alone, pair one with the rows under The restless dead in the other four lists.
Do these work as post apocalyptic RPG story ideas?
Yes. Each goal is a finite task, such as carrying a beehive to an orchard that has none, so it reads as a quest hook. The cause and shelter set the scene, and the setback opens the first session. No game system is named.
Is anything in the lists graphic?
No. No entry describes a death, an injury or a weapon. The stories are about what people keep going: a clock, a school, a greenhouse, a ferry.