Solitary

I don't know how to survive. Nor do I know what to do about the mass destruction and fires burning. I just kind of hope they'll go out eventually. Luckily, they're not closer to me, the smoke filling the air is intense enough. But what's really getting to me is the insurmountable grief stinging my chest at having lost everyone all at once.

I still don't have answers. It almost feels like a worldwide prank, aimed directly at me, and I feel like a laughingstock. At least the dogs are still here with me, otherwise, I doubt I'd wake up in the mornings at all. To be honest, most days I hope that I won't. That whatever took them all will come back and take me too.

I'm barely scraping by. The power grid was wiped out, all the perishable food went bad within the first couple of days. And I'd kill for a burger from In 'n Out right now. I can't even doomscroll on Reddit. I've picked up old childhood hobbies like bouncing a ball off my wall and tile and catching it to pass the time.

This morning, I thought I heard Daniel frying bacon in the kitchen. I swear I could even smell it. My stomach felt like it was eating itself at the promise of savory flavors. I imagined I'd get up and shuffle my way into the kitchen to make us coffee. Decked out in fuzzy slippers and a cozy pink robe.

It was a dream, and this is a nightmare.

When I woke up, my pillow was covered in slobber from the sadistic fantasy of eating a real breakfast. I know better. All the food went bad in the fridge and freezer. I haven't even dealt with it all yet. The smell in the house is putrid, but I get used to it after being in here for a bit.

I searched everywhere the first two days. I didn't understand, and I still don't. Not really. All I know is that either I've gone insane and am living in a fake, fucked up reality, or everyone else is inexplicably gone. I can't say which would be worse. It doesn't really matter. Either way, I'm alone.

Today I'm using the little fuel I have left to take a trip to REI and Costco. I figure the freeze-dried food at REI may not taste great, but it's probably better than canned beans and olives for the fifth night in a row. And Costco, well I'll just grab whatever I can fit into the back of the car. They have everything.

I guess once I run out of gas, I can borrow neighbors' cars until they run out, too. I curse myself again for not living in a walkable city.

It's very weird, being alone. I'm still practicing social norms. It's not natural to me to commit petty crime. I'm still trying to be considerate of people who aren't here and not steal all their stuff or move uninvited into their houses. I don't even let the dogs bark at night. When I broke into Safeway, I felt so guilty. I'd run out of toilet paper. And don't even ask me about the toilet situation. It is dire.

Anyway, this house is my home. It's where all of my good memories live. I still whisper prayers at night to return Daniel home or to send me to him, wherever he is.

It's funny, but I didn't break down properly until I realized I'd never get a manicure again. It was such a small thing. But it struck me hard and fast, like a bullet train. Or maybe just like a bullet. Before that, I'd felt numb and dumbstruck. I was sleeping through most days, believing maybe everything would reset. I'd set food and water out for the boys, but they'd mostly lay at my side, only ever leaving to snack or let themselves in and out through the dog door.

Now, we're working on getting a new routine. One that exists in this little world, all our own. I smell like shit and the dogs love it. I don't know how to get fresh water without it running straight through my pipes. So, I grab a baby wipe from under the sink and take a hobo shower. Making sure to focus on the most odorously offensive areas. I'm saving the jugs of water for drinking. It's too precious to use otherwise. It's what keeps us alive. It's interesting, because I do kind of want to die, but I'm not interested in aiding in the process. My instincts to survive remain stubbornly and wholly intact.

A baby on the ovulation strip box stares up at me accusingly from under the bathroom sink as I “wash” my pits. I can’t bear looking at its fat cheeks and happy little grin. I chuck the whole box into the trash, but almost immediately pull it back out of the bin. Do I dare to hope?

Before I can think too much about it, I slide open the cardboard siding and touch the pink, crinkly wrapping of the singular pregnancy test included. The word hope thumps along in my head to the rhythm of my heart. Hope for what? I think. Am I truly hoping to bring a new life into this world? In spite of myself I know the answer is an undeniable yes. Yes I am.

Maybe I'll have a part of Daniel with me after all. Opening the sliding glass door to the backyard, I step outside into the chilly air and squat down to pee on the stick. A flash of embarrassment creeps through me, heating all of my cheeks. Self-consciousness plagues my every action, even with no witnesses. It's ridiculous enough to make me laugh.

Then I place the cap back on the stick and I wait. The time spent waiting on the result feels like hours. I stare off into space for a while, thinking about my family and friends. Katie's birthday would've been tomorrow. I don't particularly like Katie, but still. I'd give almost anything to see her face now.

I jolt at the sound of the dogs barking inside the house. How much time has passed? 'Boys!' I yell. 'Quiet!' But they continue on, their piercing barks working on my nerves. And then I realize, there's someone at the door. A confounding concoction of fear and excitement races through my blood. Who on Earth could be knocking at the door? It almost doesn't matter. There's someone here! Before heading back inside, I chance a glance at the small plastic stick. It disappointingly, but not surprisingly reads 'negative' in a plain black font. Optimism floods the air anyway. There is someone here.