Run like fuck, hide, rekill when there is no option. Day after day, week after week, until I finally make that one little error that gets me torn to pieces just slowly enough for me to avoid going immediately into shock.
The best I can do is end up right where I am now: Tired, dirty, mildly dehydrated. Lonely. Scared. The worst part is the uncertainty. I envy those prisoners on death row who knew that they were going to be executed, and even knew the date and time. Nice and clean. Shot, poisoned to sleep, electrocuted. All preferable to my sentence of surprise eviceration. I feel like every moment, I’m living under a pardon from the Governor that could be revoked at any second.
The sword of Damocles. I know exactly what that means now. I guess it’s really no different than it was Before. You never knew when death was going to walk up to you and stick a knife in your ribs, or sprinkle cancer in your colon. Maybe we just perfected the illusion that the Grim Reaper wasn’t our constant companion, waiting for us to exhale one last time before introducing himself. So we danced and sang and got stoned, because dying was something that happened to other people. Now, the illusion was impossible to maintain. The Grim Reaper was everywhere in bodily form, snapping at us from the shadows, stinking up the air with its fetid aroma, its rotten buttocks sitting on the throne from where mankind used to reign.
I always keep that one bullet, just in case. Just in case I’m not fast enough, or clever enough, or lucky enough to keep one clumsy step ahead of the rotting Reapers. Maybe I won’t wait until the last second when I’m looking into those stone-cold, unseeing eyes perched atop a broken neck or set within a decayed hole where a face used to be.
Maybe I’ll decide when, where, and how that pardon gets revoked. Maybe it will be here, now, with that last bullet.
Too tired, too tired to think about being depressed. I’m on the roof of that strip center I started scavenging a few weeks ago. The air is cool, the sky is clear, my belly is full of cocktail sausages and canned corn. Maybe I’ll just sleep.
That bullet will be here in the morning…
You looked so peaceful in your sleep that I didn’t want to disturb you. Instead, I chose to write in your diary (which I took the opportunity to read). I hope you don’t mind me adding an entry in response to your most recent.
“For a long time, we were removed from the natural order of things. Due to our technology and intelligence, we ascended to the top of the food chain. A social structure which encouraged us to support each other in times of need was also a boon to humans. Sure, we had garnished some protection from the elements and other predators of the planet but in the end, we hadn’t conquered death. The most we could do was prolong it’s visit. You’re right, it was all an illusion. Humans are not and were never the “masters” of this world as we claimed to be. We were just another animal, albeit a much more destructive animal, carving an existence out of the flesh of the earth. The world doesn’t afford us those advantages or illusions anymore. Sure, we have some left over technology to rely on and the knowledge is not completely lost but soon enough, it might be.
I know that times are hard, fellow survivor, but you must persevere. The human race has been down and out before and we have managed to claw our ways from the darkness and back into the light. Right now, we are an endangered species. The odds are overwhelmingly against us. As odd as it might sound, that may work to our advantage. Conflict breeds innovation. Everyone was told as a child not to approach a cornered animal. Even the most docile would lash out in fear, anger, confusion, etc. Right now, we are the cornered animal and luckily, we still have the skeletons of technology to help us limp through to the new age. Don’t lose heart, friend. You are NOT the only one left on this world. There are others like you…like me. I must go now. I would wake you and ask you to come with me but I don’t have enough supplies to support both of us and neither do you. Perhaps we will cross paths again some time in the future. Hopefully we are both still human when it happens.
And one more thing. I left a buckeye next to your pistol. My dad used to tell me they would bring a person good luck as long as they kept it in their pocket. I hope it serves you well.”
I’m slipping. Slept right through a close encounter with another survivor. Fortunately for me he was a friendly. Either he was very quiet, or I’ve lost the will to go on and was subconsciously hoping he was going to kill me in my sleep…