Part 1

Scientists hypothesized that the world would end in twenty years. Scientists don’t know dick. Even after climate change, a couple of nuclear holocausts, mass starvations, migrations, and..about three dozen other things that happened over the last forty years, their estimates are still way off.

Way off, but not entirely inaccurate.

The thought stays echoes with every step I take on soggy ground that used to be pavement. They creek into my mind as my mask filters out the most toxic elements in the air, but still escaping from my lungs in ragged coughs. My radiation suit has been patched and sewn back together so many times that it probably wouldn’t make a difference if I went skinny-dipping in the radioactive lakes.

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The only thing keeping me from doing so is my dignity. It’s all I've got left.

Well, that’s not true. In the grand scheme of things, if apocalyptic survival was a game, my initials would be at the top.

And all by itself.

At least, I’m pretty sure I'm the last standing. I haven’t seen anyone else kicking rocks for years. Not that I can ever be sure. The EMP burst (one of those few other dozen things I mentioned) took out every form of transportation except horse and buggy…and the cannibal hordes made quick work of those. I guess there could be a few others out there spread across the world. But I've got no way of reaching out to them, and I doubt I'd want to if I could.

The years haven’t been kind. Survival rarely is. And I feel myself growing tired of this world. The scientist may've been wrong, but this world needs to die, just to be put out of its misery.