Ever since the world ended it's been harder for James to keep going. He can still remember where he was when it happened. He can still feel the aftershocks. When the dust cleared nothing was left; everything was gone. Now it's all he can do to shower and shave, to walk out the front door. Now the drive to work through what remains of the world is dismal and bleak. Now his new office is a shelter from the ruin; he closes the door and hides inside.
Sitting at the bar after work, James admires the waitress. She is too young and too pretty for him, but her sweetness pulses pangs of regret in his chest. Watching her work, watching the other people around, James is sad that no one has survived. He misses people. He misses being alive. He misses bars like this one, girls like her. In the end it was all for nothing, but he misses it all anyway.
James lies in bed and stares at the ceiling. "It came without warning," he thinks again, and not for the last time. If there had been some warning, some sign, maybe he could have been prepared. Maybe he could have survived. He can still remember how she couldn't look him in the eye. He can still remember the sound of her voice, the last sound he ever heard. "At least we were together when it happened," he thinks. "At least we were together at the end."
He can't remember her walking away. His mind won't let him see that. Not again.
Hello, friends. I hope you're well.
Later. Love.
