June 6, 2013
Alone


The night he died I was left alone. Not just in my household but in my world. He was the only other one left. The only other one keeping me from insanity. The only other one alive.

That night I kneeled by his bed and recited the last lines of his favorite poem, as I watched him slowly close his eyes and give him to the devil we know as death.

Then I slowly dragged his body to the field of corpses and cried by his side for an hour or two before I got up, brushed off my dirty pants, and headed back to the cave I knew as home.

But then I realized there was no point. There was nothing I could go back too. When I walked into the dimly lit cave I wouldn’t see Josh, huddled over the fire with his nose deep in a book, and his long blonde locks resting on his shoulders. I wouldn’t hear his hearty laugh and cracked voice. I would be alone. Just like I was before I found Josh. The cave would be pitch black and silent.

Since the plague hit, humans have been dropping dead like flies. They thought we could be immortal. They really did, but immortality came with the price of pain, disease, and unexpectedly death. Everybody was so excited. They would be able to live forever. They would get to see their great great great grandchildren’s wedding and not look a day over 50. But soon after everybody got the injection, the scientists noticed a fatal flaw in their plan, which then killed every single person who got the injection. But the children, like me, who had been born in the next generation thought they had escaped the hell that preceded their birth, until they realized that the virus had been passed down to them.

It would only be a matter of time before I started to slowly waste away, if I didn’t kill myself first.

At first it was sad to see my friends and loved ones die, but soon it became routine. My eyes have witnessed everything from cannibalism to suicide, and now nothing fazes me.

When I reached the small cave opening that I would call my “home” I stopped myself before I went in. What were my options? Do I wait for my death, or do I try to do something about it? I remember Josh used to talk about how he heard that there was a secret community in the middle of the dessert that housed survivors of the plague. At the time I just laughed at him and scolded him on his a little too wild imagination, but now it might be useful information.

If I’m going to die I at least want to die trying. I walked into the cave and grabbed an old backpack from one of the high wooden shelves Josh made for use, and started filling it with food, water, and books. Then, with one final glance I walked out of the cave forever.

I pulled out one of the old maps I had found in our cave and tried to figure out where the nearest desert. After a couple frustrating minutes, I starting walking in what I thought was the right direction and prayed to find something.

After a couple hours of mindless wandering my feet started to ache, so I found the nearest abandoned house and crashed there for the night. I couldn’t sleep though because my mind kept wandering about the possible outcomes of my risky trip.

In the morning, I ate a stale granola bar and continued on my journey. I finally found what seemed to be the start of a desert and just walked and walked hoping to come across some forms of life. I could feel day meet night over and over again, but I just blocked out the world and concentrated on walking until finally I couldn’t take it anymore.

I had been walking for at least a week, and my food supply was dangerously low. I ran my thumb over the dull, rusty, knife I had brought with me just in case, and went over my choices.

I could keep walking and either find this fantasy community or die of starvation and thirst, or I could end this painful journey now. I finally decided to walk for another hour or two and if I still don’t find anything, goodbye world.

I trudged through the sand for a while until I came across an odd looking house. For the first time in my life, I felt hope. Maybe this is real. Maybe there is a group of people in there waiting to comfort me and tell me everything is going to be alright. I weakly raised my hand to the door and knocked. My heart was almost pumping out of my chest. I waited for what seemed like 10 minutes and still no answer.

I started to accept the fact that I was going to die. It was hard, but I finally realized I couldn’t delay it for much longer. I sat down against the wall of the house and started to cry as I brought the dull knife to my throat. And with one swift swipe it was done.

But I wasn’t there to see the door next to me swing open. I wasn’t there to see the young man come out and ask me if I was okay. I wasn’t there. I was gone.