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 Storage of stories written for The Bradbury, 2025. |
| Various stories created at the (hopeful) rate of one a week for the year 2025, |
| Apocalypse at Last It was six months before Martin faced the inescapable fact. That’s a long time to run away from the obvious but Martin was not a quitter. The end of the world was not something that happens every day, after all. Easy enough for people in jokes or sci-fi tales to jump to conclusions after the earth-ending event, but reality forces us to consider the possibility that we’re not the only survivor. Especially when the event that signifies the end is a disease. The likelihood of there being only one person with immunity is farfetched, to say the least. So it was perfectly reasonable for Martin to spend his first six months of post-apocalyptic life in search of other survivors. And the final acceptance of his singularity came grudgingly and after long mental struggling. Inevitably, his thoughts turned then to what action he should take in the light of his conclusion. Life alone was not impossible, he had discovered. When there is no competition, it takes forever to empty a supermarket of its foodstuffs and supplies. Choice of transport becomes a matter of whim, there being an unlimited supply of options available. Even such luxuries as electricity and tap water continue for quite a long time before breaking down. Martin really wanted for nothing. He expected to feel the need for companionship quite keenly but, as the days passed, he found that there was more truth than he had thought in his many previous confessions to being a loner. The problem was not so much the lack of people to talk with but the sheer pointlessness of it all. It seemed to him that God had made a terrible mistake. To leave only one person alive was to ensure that humanity was doomed to the lifespan of that lone individual. Apres moi le deluge indeed. Martin lay awake at night trying to find a reason to carry on, to live out his meaningless life until the day Death finally caught up with him. He could not shake the feeling that he should cut it short as a form of protest at the idiocy of it all. In the end, he decided that there was no reason to continue. He found a gunsmith store and chose a suitable firearm. Just before committing the terrible deed, he reflected on the irony that he was indeed special, since those whom the gods hate die last. Word count: 401 Foe The Bradbury, Week 16. |
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