It’s always the same thing. I wake up after a pleasant dream, only to realize, it’s the apocalypse. I’ve been on my own now for years. At one point I even had a friend. Having friends felt like such a complex concept back before the apocalypse, now anyone will be your friend if you have food or water. I guess survival is more important than anything else these days. No one wants to die, I mean who wants to miss out on the adventure of a lifetime? There’s no money, no fame, no notoriety, no one trying to influence you into some product their selling, no internet, oh yeah and no hope. The only day to day goal is, don’t get killed. Which means your only option is to meet those expectations any way you can.

I’ve been hiding out in someone’s house for about a week. I say ‘someone’ because it’s hard to tell who actually lived here. I have some random notes and a few picture pieces and one family album but it’s confusing as hell to visualize this ‘family.’ So from the clues I’ve gathered they have, one dog-named Barko, a turtle-named Tortimer, a goldfish-named Chaos and I found all of this information in a book titled ‘fur babies?’ First off, half of those things don’t even have fur!!? Is this some weird thing that happened before the apocalypse mutated everyone? Did humanity have fur babies?! My jaw dropped as I looked through the album at dust covered, torn photos of these so called ‘fur babies.’ The couple who ‘had them’ we will call them ‘Brad and Karen.’ I couldn’t find any specifics on these two fur parents. Is that the right term? Maybe it’s fur family? All actual photos of the couple were destroyed when the bombs hit. I did find their bones though, they died together, holding each other and their fur children.

It was bittersweet to bury them all. ‘I hope wherever you are now is safe.’ That felt like the right thing to say. It reminded me of my own skeletons and the people I left behind. I hate thinking about the past but it’s impossible to move on when all you see is death. I take a deep breath and hold, letting go of these thoughts. Right now we have to focus on the task at hand. We are low on food, which means we are going out to find some before sunset.

At this point in my life I was really good at finding scraps and making it a four course meal. I would scour garbage cans, dive in dumpsters and raid any fridge I found. Somedays the crap at the bottom of a very old can of food was the best thing you could get. Other days I would find a sealed can. Opening it up was like this magical experience. What will I have today? Most often it was beans, but every now and again I got a can of fruit. My favorite cans were some weird mix called Spaghetti loops. Some loops even had hot dogs, one time tiny meatballs! I was in culinary heaven. I cried for hours that night after I finished the can. I knew it would be years before I found another one.

As I rounded the corner to an old restaurant I saw someone digging through some trash in the distance. I ducked down, pulled out a bow and started threading an arrow into the notch. I cautiously made my way over, trying my best to not make a sound. As I approached the area I couldn’t see anything moving. I straightened out and put my bow away, confused at my eyes playing tricks on me. “Hands up.” A voice behind me says. I try to turn but a knife is on my neck. I slowly raise my hands. I can’t believe I fucked up my only goal.