I’ve been walking this road for hours now,
heat from the dark sun burning the back of my neck.
I don’t know how or why I survived, but I did,
the universe perhaps playing a little joke on me,
let them all **** themselves but keep this one alive,
let me see what he does all on his own.

People always seemed alien to me,
especially the ones in power, the ones who controlled the triggers
and all the buttons that could send missiles halfway around the world.
What must that feel like, all that power?
However it felt, it wasn’t good for the rest of us.
As far as I’m concerned, I am the last one alive,
trying to tune radios on to different channels proved fruitless,
the entire electrical grid was damaged beyond repair.
Whoever else may be alive, they had no way of communicating.

I reach a diner and gather up food and other supplies.
I have no idea how long it’s been since the wars ended,
there’s been little way in being able to count the days,
but I reckon it’s been a few years now,
my beard has grown from stubble to now reaching my chest.
That’s my calendar, a beard that rarely gets washed.
I had read lots of books and seen lots of films
about how the future might pan out if everyone went mental,
and Cormac McCarthy came closest, I think.

It’s incredibly lonely here, haven’t seen another live person
since the wars ended, everyone panicked and fled to higher ground
but the world didn’t get flooded by water,
it was nuclear pollution that did everyone in
and hiding on a mountaintop wouldn’t protect you from the toxic air.
Every day, I walk past dozens of bodies, mostly skeletons,
some still have vestiges of flesh clinging on,
what’s left of the crows picking away at the last morsels.

My backpack is filled mostly with bottled water,
food I only really eat when I visit diners or motels.
What I didn’t get in those post-apocalyptic stories
was why all the survivors seemed to sleep outside
when all the hotels and houses had perfectly good beds.
I stayed at the Ritz in New York a while ago,
spent a few days living like a king ruling over
some small country that only existed in a history book.
I had no subjects to rule dominion over,
just myself role-playing a fantasy in my head.

But I have freedom now like no one else has ever had,
I can truly do whatever I want to do, no repercussions
except for an occasional nagging voice in my head
reminding me that I should feel guilty for taking that skeleton’s shoes.
Yeah, I have freedom, but it seems like an illusion,
having to write my story down in a little girl’s diary
that I found in a bedroom a few weeks or so ago.
I tore out all the pages that she had written in
because it was so difficult seeing her writing,
trying in her own way to come to terms with what was happening.
She didn’t have a clue, just like billions of others.

Right now, I’m heading into Pittsburgh,
somewhere I haven’t been before and probably won’t return to.
The blue of the sky is a lot darker than before the wars,
all the clouds are orange and brown, and fog smells like death.
Thankfully, it’s nice just now, and the heat has died down.
I pick a large suburban house with a big yard
and gather some paper and card from around the house
and build a little bonfire in the garden to cook with.
Everything I eat now comes in a can,
except for the odd berry I spy when I travel,
but because of the radiation, I can’t eat too many.

My cough is bad tonight, but there’s still no blood.
I’m sitting at a desk by a window in the master bedroom,
watching the last of my fire die away,
flying embers like tiny angels, the briefest of lives.
Some nights like this, I wonder why I don’t just give up too,
I’m fighting a losing battle here; I know how it will end.

I’ve just seen smoke, coming from another neighborhood,
snaking up into the dark sky.
It’s no more than a mile away, but I can’t go tonight,
I’m too tired from the walk today.
I need to sleep.
I need to investigate.
I need to sleep.