Stranger

It’s been 456 days since I last saw my family.

Wait, no.

Scratch that.

457 days, starting today.

Counting days has kept me sane. Reminds me that it wasn’t always like this. That I had friends, a family. A roof over my head, food on the table every time I came back from school.

Now, I go days without anything. At first, it was hard because I had never gone a day without food or water. My lips have grown dry, my mouth is coarse. I’ve grown used to it, though. Ever since “that day” I’ve found less food as the months go by. You’d be surprised considering there’s no one alive anymore that there would be more food. Most of the food was destroyed when the explosion happened.

Everything was destroyed when the explosion happened, rather.

Sometimes memories come in fragments, most of them a blur and sometimes, very rarely, vivid images of what it used to be like.

It’s weird, really. It hasn’t even been two years and yet I find myself forgetting the little things, such as Teddy’s favorite movie or my mom’s eyes. But then it comes back, and I feel my shoulders relax.

It’s the least I could do considering I’m the one who should’ve died that day, not Teddy.

But there’s no point in trying to change something that already happened.

So, I keep a diary, writing the most important things from my past so I don’t forget in the future. I don’t know how far that is, or how close. I might die any day now if I don’t find food or water. I might die from loneliness.

I could die from choking on a stale potato chip for all I know, or care.

It’s something I’ve also realized since that day: nothing is certain. So, might as well not care at all and see where that takes me. Either way, I’m dead in a few years so it won’t matter if I end up in an abandoned house or a mansion.

But, if I’m being real, I would much rather die in a rich dead person’s house than a middle-class person’s house.

No offense.

Brings me to my next point: shit that held any real value does not hold any real values anymore. It’s freeing in a way, but it’s also a shame. I could wear the most expensive diamond and I don’t have anyone to brag it to. Not the snotty girl at my school, Venessa, who always wore too much fragrance mist and of course had a fortune because of her parents. Not my best friend, Sidney, either. She was probably dead.

Money held so much value before, but now I use it as toilet paper. Which isn’t the most sanitary option, but its either that or bark of wood. I can assure you a bark of wood does not feel good, at all.

For instance, I only had $15 under my name, maybe $50 if I had sold that one fancy bag my mom gave me for my 16th^th birthday. But I know for a fact that no matter how much I worked, I would never in a million years be able to afford the house I’m staying at.

I, of course, am staying in California. In one of the only houses that remained partly intact, in a small city.

There’s nothing that interesting about it, but it’s still nice though.

It keeps me safe and probably the only place I call safe. After everything, it is hard to feel safe anywhere anymore. I try not to get used to anything, reminding myself that it could all be gone in a matter of seconds.

The earth had warmed up, weeks before fires had started. Engulfing entire cities, then the acid rain started.

I was underground when it happened, my parents had locked me in. I begged for them to come in, but they said there wasn’t enough food for us all. Teddy had passed away a few weeks ago, so it was probably for the better because I would never want her to see what I saw.

Her company would’ve been nice, having her warmth and her sarcastic jokes.

Now, it’s all silence.

Sometimes I talk to myself, I try to imagine I’m talking to her.

She doesn’t talk back, though.

Today’s a Thursday, which means I must go out and look for food. I only have half a protein bar left, a few dried apricots, and two M&M’s.

That’ll only last me a few more hours, so I must try to see if I’m going to sleep starving tonight or not.

I have my backpack ready: a blanket, my water flask, and the half protein bad. And a gun and knife, just in case.

Nothing ever bad happens anymore. The humans are gone so the bad goes with them as well.

I don’t bother locking the house, there’s no point in that anymore. People did that if someone tried to break in, but now I kind of wish someone did. Seeing a human is the only hope that I allow myself to have, even though I shouldn’t have any hope at all.

It’s impossible that anyone would have survived that day, I don’t even know how I survived that day. But I did, and I regret it.

I must walk a few miles to find a store that isn’t demolished, but there’s no food. Which is weird, because I could’ve sworn I missed an isle the last time I came by.

That’s when I hear it.

It’s barely there, but it’s hard to miss the sound of glass crunching when you’ve grown used to the silence.

I stop there on my tracks, not doing anything too sudden. It might be an animal, which means diner that isn’t processed food.

I pull out my knife quickly, slowly approaching the animal (or whatever it is).

Then I see it.

Or him.

I let out a scream just as he lets out a scream as well.

“Don’t even think about moving,” I scream, trying to sound intimidating.

He’s laying on the floor, blood spilling out from his arm. His shirt is ripped up, part of it used to cover up the wound.

I don’t even say anything, I just stare at him wide-eyed.

“So, are you gonna help or what?” he says, meeting my eyes.