• He released a loud grunt, followed by a sharp jolt in his torso as he sat up. The room was dark and foreign -- it didn't help that he was still a little groggy. He had the same damned dream as the night before… A cold sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He roughly threw the covers off of his legs and swung them over the side of the makeshift bed. Raising his hands to his face, he wiped his eyes in a feeble attempt to jump start his body and wake himself up.

    His bare feet pressed against the cold, grimy floor, which was littered with various pieces of trash and clothing. It wasn't the life he had intended for himself…To say he hadn't seen it coming would've been an understatement.

    Making his way to the end of the shabby bedroom, he stepped into the hallway cautiously. It was almost as if he expected someone to be out there waiting for him, yet, deep down, he knew he was only kidding himself. In a way, he almost wished that there was an intruder of sorts; another person, or a critter.

    He wanted someone to share the burden…

    When people think of the apocalypse, they often think that it's the end of man. In a way, that's true, but what about those who are left behind? What happens to them?

    It seemed that not everyone was worthy or fortunate enough to be taken away to the Kingdom of Heaven…

    Sure, it sounded all nice and dandy. He was free from responsibility, complicated social relationships and had all the privacy he could possibly desire... No matter who you are or how much you relish solitude, it's nothing that anyone can get used to. It was near impossible to cope with.

    He carefully stepped through a pile of debris collected in the hallway and managed to reach the front door and step outside. The sun was beginning to come out; it certainly was a fascinating sight…

    It was funny -- without electricity, he often lost track of time. It was always interesting when he believed it to be the evening only to be greeted by the powerful rays of light coming from the illuminating orb in the sky.

    It was so strange how primal one becomes when he's all alone. It's as if he jumped backwards about a thousand years… Then, again, most of what man did to keep himself presentable was influenced by society. Without it, there was no need for things like hygiene, sanitation and healthy eating. That's not to say he didn't stay in shape, but he certainly didn't think about rationing his food.

    People are often depicted to be very rational when placed in a situation like this, but no one knows what it's truly like to be all alone… No one knows what it's like to have to search all the homes throughout a neighborhood for food, seeing the corpses of people that you might've known along the way.

    It was funny how quickly it all happened. It was more than obvious that it caught people by surprise. There were cars still in the middle of the road, bodies strewn about and trash literally covering the already withered pavement. He hadn't gone farther then the suburbs, so he could only imagine what the city looked like. It was probably smart to head into a major city, but he was afraid. He fooled himself into thinking there might be bandits along the way, or people might reject more refugees… He didn't want to believe he was truly alone, so he convinced himself that there were others out there.

    Still, in all the ugliness, he sought beauty. He chased reasons for living when there truly was nothing. He couldn't bring himself to believe there was hope for a better future. Relief wasn't around the corner; rebuilding society was a mere fairytale. There was nothing left salvage and he came to accept that.

    All of this often begged the question, "Where is god?" Being a former Christian himself, he often questioned his God's motives. Why had he been damned to hell? He felt it was a cruel punishment for a man who lived his life to the standards of the bible; church on Sundays, praying before he slept and genuine good will to others. In the end, he used God as a scapegoat. Perhaps, to keep his sanity…

    The rags he wore were beginning to fall apart -- finding clean clothes wasn't as easy as it seemed. He lacked the heart and stomach to strip a corpse of their attire. To remove them of their clothes would render them animals and he didn't want to remember people like that…

    After a few moments of silence on the porch, he returned inside to gather his supplies. He only kept a small rucksack full of necessities, finding that it was smart to travel lightly.

    It was hard for one to keep his grip on reality when the world was reduced to such a state… The lack of nourishment and dehydration often led to delusions. He'd sometimes see those who have perished standing before him -- anew. Sometimes, they weren't as he remembered, but he also found that his memory was slowly beginning to dissolve. He'd picture people he knew in different ways, remembered things that never happened, sometimes even creating fictional figures that had no role in his life.

    You'd think that there would've been animals or maybe they would've been affected differently then humans, but that was yet another fairytale. There was literally nothing.

    The lack of interaction had detrimental effects on the subconscious; he'd sometimes talk to himself to keep from being alone. He'd feign opinions, have conversations, and even argue with himself. Sometimes, he'd even hear voices. He realized they were imaginary, but he'd always look around suspiciously. He half expected that this was all some sort of joke or a dream that he was having, but, at the end of the day, it was all the same.

    The same repetitive thing everyday…Wake up, check the time of day, find food and water, move to a new location, scavenge for supplies, go back to sleep, and repeat. The same routine day in and day out was beginning to piss him off, but who could he be angry with? That's probably what upset him the most…He would get so unbelievably livid, but there was no one to scream at but himself.

    Suicide had always been something on his mind…It would've been a welcomed relief to the hell that he was living in, but it was a coward's way out. He knew there was no hope for the future, but he wanted to ride it out just to see what would happen. Though common practices like hygiene had been abandoned, he wouldn't neglect his principals.

    Travelling throughout the suburbs was hazardous; though he had immunities to what had caused all of this…He still was very much vulnerable to diseases attained from being around corpses. There was a simple remedy to that; he'd avoid breathing in the toxic fumes as best he could. He wrapped a small black sash around the lower half of his face and moved quickly, but cautiously. It was also pretty cold outside, so he layered himself in various pieces of clothing.

    He turned down a street he hadn't been explored yet and made for the most stable looking house available. The door was locked, no surprise there. He rammed his shoulder into the door, but it didn't budge. After becoming a little frustrated, he threw a foot into the center of the door. The door swung open, but it threw him off balance. He toppled backward, twisting his ankle, and banging his head on the pavement. His vision dimmed for a moment and he became lethargic for a moment, he reached his hand up to the back of his head only to get a hand full of blood.

    This was the worst thing that could've happened; he wasn't capable of patching himself up. It didn't help that it was in an awkward place…He sat up and tried to get to his feet, but his ankle gave out immediately. He had let out a loud moan in the process, he climbed onto the porch and propped himself against the doorframe. He rolled up his pant leg to see a very swollen ankle. It had to be broken; he couldn't even apply pressure without crying out in pain.

    He crawled into the house on his hands and knees, falling onto his back once he was inside, and kicked the door shut with his other foot.

    He was now stranded…

    Luckily, there wasn't too much debris and garbage in the home he had chosen, so it made it was somewhat easy to navigate through the house. He managed to get the bedroom on the ground floor with a clean bed…

    He assumed that the people who had lived there fled when everything began.

    He was able to prop his back against the bed and pull the rucksack out from behind him, gently placing it in his lap. The pain was incredible and he was still lightheaded from the fall.

    There was a little bit of food in the rucksack, but not enough to last more then three days. All he could hope is that there was food in the house that was still good enough to eat. The wound to his head would have to heal on its' own, because he wasn't even sure how to treat it. He didn't have any bandages, but decided to look for some later on. If only he could make a splint; he had seen a one before, but had no idea how to make one, so he had to hope that his leg would get better on its' own.

    Days had passed, his food ran out, there was no food left in the house, and his leg hadn't gotten any better. He did manage to find some gauze for his wound, but that wasn't enough to keep it from getting infected.

    He remained idle on the bed, staring up at the ceiling absent mindedly. He had thought it was bad before, but it had gotten even worse. It was as if someone was playing some kind of cruel practical joke on him…

    Dying of starvation was the worst end he could possibly have met…

    It was the scariest thing to know that he was going to die…It was different when death caught one off guard, but to know that it's not too far away was unbearable.

    A loud bang woke him on what he perceived to be the next day. His eyes opened weakly, he tried to sit up, but crumbled onto his back again. He began to cough, still trying to see what had created the commotion. The front door swung open, his heart stopped, some footsteps creaked underneath the floorboards.

    A heavyset man stood at the doorway for a few moments, he cautiously entered the room.

    "Are you alright?" The man's voice was kind; he had almost forgotten what it sounded like for someone to be nice. His eyes lit up and a smile spread across his lips as he began to erupt in laughter. The man moved closer, examining the extent of his wounds with heavy scrutiny. He placed a bag down on the edge of the bed and pulled out a small first aid kit, and then proceeded to gather necessary supplies.

    "Are you hungry?" The man offered a small morsel of food, the man wasn't able to answer, but could tell by the lack of nourishment that he was starving. Out of his rucksack came a large piece of bread. The man bit into it like a refugee, devouring it in just a few moments.

    "Let me see your head…" He paused, "You're going to be okay." The heavyset man gave him a smile, in it he saw something he never expected to see again: hope.

    All he could do was laugh while the other continued to comfort him and ask questions.

    It was then that he realized there was never any significance behind his survival. He fought so hard to stay alive, but never realized that he was only delaying the inevitable.