End of Humanity

Dear Journal

The silence is the worst part, I’ve decided. The endless gray landscape would be easier to deal with if it wasn’t so damned quiet. That’s why this latest acquisition is so important. I handle it with care, like a mother holding her baby close before being rendered to ashes in the fiery inferno of our own design.

That was a little dark, I apologize. Let’s step back a moment and steer this entry towards positive reflection, instead of the usual gore we write. Now, I had the mp3 player, the most precious thing left in this world.

It was an old one, didn’t even have a battery indicator, but that didn’t matter. I cranked the volume as high as it would go and the player roared to life with an old classic: Sweet Child O’ Mine, by Guns and Roses. Just what I wanted to hear, some guy singing about how sad he was that he had made his girl cry or something. Try watching powerless as the world burns in oceans of fire, buddy.

Music is our connection to the past. It matters not how old the song, you still hear it like the day it was just a thought in the mind of a madman. The music flows into your soul, sparking a rhythm in your veins that connects you to that singer, like he’s singing a private concert just for you.

I can’t tell the story if you keep interrupting, so shh. So there I was, a music player in one hand, the doorknob to the house in the other. It had fallen out of of the door as I opened it, and I hadn't bothered to let its new found friendship with my hand end so soon. I adjusted my mask, making sure it was secure and there was no air leaking out. Wouldn't want to get ash in my lungs and make being the last human a wasted effort on my part.

I stepped out into the street, although it was just one gray stretch of ash hedged in by buildings on either side, indistinguishable from the thousands like it. The only thing left standing were said buildings, though standing was a relative term. They leaned on each other like drunken sailors from some long ago time, when the oceans weren't mostly dead fish corpses.

Alright, not only did you plagiarize some of that, you got the quote wrong! Why do you even try?

Why should it matter if I plagiarized it? I’m the only one who can read the friggin' words anyway! The only one who cares is your stupid nag of a voice in my head that I can’t get rid of!

Why I never! You sit here and write about how silence is the worst thing, and yet here I am to provide company and you shun me.

Forget what I said, silence is the best thing in the world compared to your whining! At least the silence doesn't make me want to end our miserable existence. Well, it does, but not as much!

Fine, if you didn't want me here I'll just go walk away. Oh wait! I'm trapped here in your head whilst you make stupid choices and write about how terrible your life is in the bleak unending wasteland! Maybe you should settle down somewhere instead of constantly moving and reminding yourself of why you're sad. Like whenever you open the door and find a family huddled up close together, their last moments forever immortalized in their expressions of pure terror etched even into the bones of their faces.

Now who's being dark? Anyways, you've ruined yet another entry into the journal of my life, of which only I can read and understand. And I've decided, the silence isn't so bad.

End of Entry.