I live in a modest two-story house, complete with a basement, a pool deck, and a small yard that drops off the edge of the world into an endless void.

  Well, that's what I assume it is, anyway; I've never been to the edge of a world before and wouldn't really know what to look for to identify it even if I had. What indicates that kind of thing? Does it matter? It's dark and seemingly infinite and will probably kill me if I ever fall in, so I suppose it doesn't matter what I end up calling it.

  It's hard to define a lot of things without scientists around to definitively say what things are and how they work, but I manage. For example, last week I decided to refer to those shadows I sometimes see moving out of the corner of my eye as "stalkers" because really, that's all they are. They've never hurt me in the time since I started noticing them, but I've caught a few watching me in the shower before, so I think they're all just creeps with no real sinister intentions. Or maybe they're just not killing me because they're all severe procrastinators in addition to being perverts. I suppose I can relate to that, but I do still kind of hope they keep not killing me for a while.

  Shadow-voyeurism aside, I live pretty comfortably. I never run out of food, thanks to the giant "strawberry" plants that have overgrown the porch. I call them "strawberries" with quotes because while they certainly look like the berries I know and love, I really have no clue what they actually are since nobody can survive as long as I have off of nothing but berries, even if they are the size of my head. I also have clothes of all sizes since raiding the closets upstairs; having your entire family disappear from your life without a trace has its perks, I guess. I'm set up with an endless supply of fresh water thanks to the zero-gravity stream that floats past one of the second-story windows. And lastly, but most importantly, I have an honest-to-god internet connection, so I can still connect to a few of my favorite video games, even if nobody else is online with me anymore and it can get kind of eerie sometimes. I don't know how the game servers are still running, but I try not to think about it too much or else I get really anxious.

  I stretch underneath my sheets and rub my eyes for what seems like the hundredth time. It's been a couple hours and I still haven't gotten up. It's pretty hard to motivate myself to be active when there's nothing to do I haven't done a thousand times already. For example, I've already completed the Halo campaign seven times, and I'm well on my way to my eighteenth playthrough of Warcraft 3. My Wii broke within the first couple of months of living like this (curse you, Nintendo), but I'm pretty sure my Gamecube will survive for decades after I'm gone (bless you, Nintendo), which means that even though I'll tragically never play Metroid Prime 3 again, I'll always have the first two to enjoy, and I've always liked them better anyway so I still win.

  The shirt I'm wearing (formerly my older sister's) is riding up my torso but I don't feel like fixing it, so my stomach remains cold and exposed. None of the pants that fit me are clean, so I'm just wearing boxers; the stalkers can stare at me as long as they like for all I care. My hair's a mess because, much like laundry, I've been putting off showering for a day or five. I'm acutely aware of how gross I look (a leftover echo of my social anxiety) but without anyone around to judge me over the years, I've been having a hard time finding the energy to do anything about it.

  I lazily stare at a fly buzzing around one of the lights; why, of all creatures, did flies have to be the sole surviving feature of my old reality? Why not puppies or frogs or Cher? There are these glowing neon frogs around the pool now, but they're closer to lightbulbs than amphibians, so they don't really count. I also have a Cher CD still lying around here somewhere, so I guess she's here with me in spirit. Flies, however, remain the same boring nuisance they've always been, and I just can't bring myself to like them, even if their existence is the only thing keeping me from forgetting what the world was like when things were okay.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  As my apathy nears the 4-hour mark (my record is eleven), the light of a lamp that's been in my eyes is eclipsed by a snaower (snail flower). Snaowers are these big snails about the size of a baseball that have plants growing out of their shells, kind of like a Bulbasaur from Pokémon. The plants can be different but I've only ever seen stuff from the yard, so I don't know exactly how diverse it can get. My favorite snaower has a tiny cluster of white flowers blooming out of her mossy shell; I've been calling her Linda. I look up to discover that she's the one who has eclipsed the lamp. She likes to get my attention in creative ways like that.

  Slowly, I unravel myself from my blankets and make my way over to her. I pick Linda up and set her down onto the floor so she doesn't fall and hurt herself. She's very talented and has never been clumsy before, but as her friend I think I'm still allowed to worry for her safety. I yawn loudly and stretch again, scratching myself as I contemplate what to do today. I could shower. Or play some more video games I've already memorized. Or maybe I could even eat a mutant berry to sustain my malnourished body. The possibilities are truly endless.

  Carefully stepping so that my bare feet don't land on any of the junk I left lying around the basement floor, I make my way to the stairs. As I reach the top, I decide to eat breakfast (or lunch, or whatever meal it is right now) before figuring out the rest of my schedule.

  I stop by the porch, which is really more of a garden now for all intents and purposes, to pick up one of the smaller, apple-sized berries to eat as I wrack my brain for more activities. I could organize the room I keep all the clothes, but the messier it gets, the less I want to sift through piles of fabric to find something that fits me, and now I consider it to be one of my biggest stressors, so I'm probably not going to actually do that. Again, the thought crosses my mind that I could get cleaned up, but that's always a huge hassle, since my only source of clean water isn't connected to the house's pipe system, or the ground, or anything really, and I don't feel up to leaning out a window with a bucket to try and catch some just to get back to square one in a day or two. Nothing really sounds appealing so far, but I might have to settle since my options are pretty limited, not being able to leave the house and all; I haven't been able to escape since it broke off from my old neighborhood and sunk into the void I find myself in now. I could probably climb back up the sidewalk hanging against the cliff face to get to the surface if the front door wasn't blocked by a wall of stone and dirt; but why would I want to leave, anyway? Everything I need is already down here, and who knows what's waiting for me out there.

  Sometimes I think I see giant shapes, like tentacles or serpents or something, writhing and twisting around in the darkness outside. I'm probably lucky they haven't noticed me in all the time I've lived down here; no way in hell am I willing to test fate after surviving for this long and leave the safety of my house just to be eaten by some unknowable cosmic horror-beast.

  I suddenly realize I'm staring into the void out of a window and quickly turn my attention back to the interior of the house. I shudder involuntarily and decide I'm going to play video games today. Video games are safe.

  I make my way into the living room to find Linda inching across the top of the TV. I don't know how she does it, that speed demon; it's only been a couple of minutes since I came up from the basement and she's already waiting for me. I decide I want to play some Dark Souls, so I root through a pile of games until I find the third one. I blow Linda a kiss as I turn on the screen and get comfortable on the couch as the game connects to the server. Just another day in paradise.

  Wait.

  Something's different.

  The game is taking longer to load than it usually does.

  A feeling of dread washes over me as the loading screen freezes and displays an error message: Unable to  connect to Dark Souls 3 game servers.

  I try to reconnect and the same message appears.

  Oh no.

  I scramble off the couch and run downstairs to my desktop. Frantically, I try to connect to the internet, but that doesn't work either. My heart stops as I notice a red X over the bars in the lower right hand corner of the screen.

  Oh god, no.

  I check the router to my left. The lights flicker for a moment, then go dark.

  No, no, no!

  I collapse into the nearby beanbag chair and cover my face with shaking hands.

  My internet connection is gone.

  And suddenly, for the first time since the world ended, I fully feel the weight of how truly alone I am.