A Note to the World, from Rielle Hess. Who is crazy.

October 13, 2083 (what a truly disgusting date....)

I thought I was the last one. You should know before I begin this entry, that I was not in the least bit happy to find that actually-I wasn't the only one. It was a crude awakening. I enjoy solitary. Well, no. Maybe not enjoy it, but I've found myself becoming quite used to it. And if there's one thing I've learned from humans, it's that they loath change.

Ha. Hahahahahahahahahaha. Yea right, I haven't learned anything from humans. Not REAL ones anyway. Movies and books and things like that, things that stand the test of time-at least stand it better than humans have-show me who we once were. Or maybe they show me how I'm supposed to be? I don't know, and I've stopped caring much. I still watch all those cheesy adventure shows, even though I know I'll never actually need them. Maybe it gives me just the slightest bit of comfort to know that if somehow, miraculously all of the stores of leftover food, water, and homes that people left behind when the twenty-seventh strand of COVID spread through the world killing off anyone and everyone within only one month, were to disappear, I'd know what bugs to eat and which plants would end my miserable existence before I hate time to doubt myself.

I won't need that though, I've got everything I need. Right. Here. I have a relatively enjoyable life. I wake up at exactly seven o'clock every morning, remembering what mother used to tell me. I don't remember much of her but I do remember a few things. One of those things being her rule that we always wake up early, even when the world was ending. So I do. If only to enjoy the thought of her waking up at the same time in the room next to mine. Except I don't wake up in that room anymore-that house was too painful to stay in for long. And she doesn't wake up in the room next to mine. I can't sleep in houses with bunk beds either. They hold bad memories for me. And I'd rather stop writing about this now.....

After waking up I read from the bible (Father was a devoutly religious man you see) not to mention I figure if I'm going to die just like every other member of the human race already has then I may as well spend the rest of my time believing that this hell of a life is not the end. Though it only helps if I believe that the next life will be better. So I tell myself I'll be going to heaven one day, and my mother and father and 4 older sisters and 4 older brothers will be there too along with every other problem, pain, and pure joy that come along with having billions of other human beings in one place. Because if it's not like that, I'm certain it's not heaven.

After bible study I workout, running through my favorite workouts. If the human population were to come back, I'm fairly certain I would win every arm wrestle ever without batting an eye. I shower and get ready, doing my hair and putting my makeup on. I don't know why I do it. It's not like there's anyone else around to care whether or not my brown eyes sparkle or if I wear any mascara. Although these days I suppose that is slightly untrue. Maybe, just maybe I care a bit more now.

Then I spend hours at a time learning the most random things. Today it's reading the Tale of Two Cities, learning the chemicals involved in making bleach (the list of random facts the internet can teach you is endless) and continuing on my guitar lessons.

Then I go on my bike ride. Cars aren't efficient anymore, too many gas stations don't function and too many roads are unkempt. Usually two to three hours of riding around a city, seeing the sites while at the same time trying not to cry at the absence of any human life for miles to admire them.  Usually my "trying" quickly fails. Let me tell you, it is not easy to ride a bike with tears in your eyes and spit choking down your throat. But I suppose it wouldn't be a truly successful day without my crying fest. Or maybe I should call it a sobbing fest. Ya, sounds more like it.

Then I ride home, work in the garden a bit, pluck out a few complicated piano pieces. Once evening hits I remind myself that I have to eat or I'll die, then I have the usual conversation with myself.

"But Rielle, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to die. You wouldn't feel so alone anymore."

"No! We do not want to die! There's always something in life to make it worth it. That's what Granpappy always said."

"Yes. And he's dead too."

At that point in the conversation, I usually call myself crazy and switch the subject.

After dinner I watch movies or television. Sometimes I like to pretend I am one of the characters. Pretending like the friends in the shows or the boys in the movies are mine.

The moral of the story is that I am truly and completely alone, there is not one living soul on the surface of the earth besides me and me only and there hasn’t been for eight years. Instead I am forced to live, walking the cities they left behind, watching the videos they filmed and looking at the photos they took. The only people I have to talk to are the ones I think I’m hallucinating, because dead people can’t talk to you, right? Living without really living and also regretting. Not wishing, but absolutely and truly regretting that I was born with some sort of superhero immunity built into me. A one in a couple hundred billion chance, and it happened to me. Well, now so does this story. 

Parker showed up only 14 days ago.

I’m still not sure he’s real, like he claims to be. I found him at the grocery store, doing the same thing I was. Robbing shelves. I mean, it’s not thievery, not anymore. It’s not like there’s anyone to pay for it. 

I bumped into him while turning the corner to the cookie aisle (I rationalize that the massive amount of cookies I eat is to make up for the equally massive amount of calories I burn just to burn up time in the morning). Naturally I told the hallucination to shove off, reasonably annoyed that my mind was making things hard for me that day. The strange thing was that he didn’t. He just stood there for a few seconds, gaping at me until I moved on down the aisle and into the next one. That’s when he started talking. Shouting actually, shouting at me to wait and to come back. At that point I started running. I’m not sure exactly what it was I was running from, my own mind I guess. But I did. I made it about to my bike when the effort it took to swing my legs over the seat gave him the extra time he needed to catch up. At which point he tackled me to the ground, quite forcefully might I add, like this was just some game of tackle football, not a completely strange day in the middle of an empty parking lot in an empty world. 

He apologized for that two days ago. It didn’t suit me then to say I forgave him, so I didn’t. That didn’t stop him from apologizing another fifty million times though. I still haven’t told him I forgive him, though I’m seriously considering it just to get him to shut up. 

Now at this point, you-what am I saying, no one's ever going to read this ridiculous thing, duh-are probably confused. Me too. Nature says that I should like this guy, at least tolerate him. I’ve been alone for eight years, I imagine people in my head to force myself not to cry every five seconds. And sure, I noticed he’s different from my other hallucinations. Yea, I noticed that he looks like he’s an angel and he honestly can’t be more than two or three years older than me. I notice that if nothing else, he’s someone to talk to. Actually talk to. Ya, I noticed he’s practically perfect. And above all else, I notice he’s human. H.U.M.A.N. 

Maybe that’s why I hate him so much. Every time I look at Parker Ross (he told me his last name, I didn’t ask), I am reminded of all of the people I don’t have. Every time I see him smile at me, purely glad to have someone who’s alive to look at, I loathe the fact that he’s alive, and I’m alive and they aren’t. 

I hate both of us. I hate that I don’t know, what’s real and what’s fake anymore. Before I woke up this morning there were two things I was absolutely sure about. Only two. One, I am the last person on Earth. And two, I am absolutely and completely alone. Now I know nothing. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

-Sincerely, Rielle Hess. To a world that will never, ever read this. From a girl who is. Going. Crazy.